


Larkspur & Carnation

by hannathing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - No Magic, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Gen, M/M, OOC Snape (see author's note), POV Severus Snape, casual ableist language (mostly Severus Snape)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannathing/pseuds/hannathing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape likes his flower shop.</p><p>Maybe like is the wrong word.</p><p>Severus Snape likes, enjoys, and covets his flower shop. It is his. His design, his flowers, his furniture, his cash register, his. It is peaceful, and bright. It is beautiful and calm and full of flowers just waiting to become something, a thing he creates. A thing of beauty and words and meaning.</p><p>Or, this would all be true if it weren’t for his new neighbor and the constant and insistently pounding bass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Ostróżka i Goździk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974529) by [Disharmony (anga971)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anga971/pseuds/Disharmony)



> [Inspired by a tumblr post.](http://haleswallows.tumblr.com/post/98695312572/dr-kara-jasongraceless-killerink-i)  
>     
> [Translated to polish by Disharmony (anga971)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7974529/chapters/18241924)  
>    
> This story contains a good amount of flower language. All flower meanings will be linked to with footnotes, which only work when the page is in [ "Entire Work" mode.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3462581?view_full_work=true) They are also in a list in Chapter 3 in order of mention.
> 
> Quick note about Snape:  
> I de-aged Snape a bit because I didn’t want cannon Snape. Cannon Snape is gross, and uses his love as a way to own Lily. So essentially, Snape never met Lily or James (because younger) and thus he is a better version of himself. I want to write this as the version of him that JK Rowling tried to present. A misunderstood, prickly, smart and caring person with tons of passion for what he cares for. So yes, that is this Snape. I fucked with the HP World to make it happen. Please don’t be angry. And if you are, please message me on Tumblr and we’ll fix things. My tumblr is [haleswallows.](http://haleswallows.tumblr.com)
> 
> Whew, sorry for the horribly long note. Please enjoy.

**Larkspur & Carnation** [1]

 

Severus Snape likes his flower shop.

Maybe like is the wrong word.

Severus Snape likes, enjoys, and covets his flower shop. It is his. His design, his flowers, his furniture, his cash register, his. It is peaceful, and bright. It is beautiful and calm and full of flowers just waiting to become something, a thing he creates. A thing of beauty and words and meaning.

Or, this would all be true if it weren’t for his new neighbor and the constant and insistently pounding bass.

He misses his old neighbor. The old woman and her antique shop, all exposed brick and hoards of trinkets. Severus had considered buying her store, when he had been looking for spaces for his floral store. But he’d chosen the unit next door, bigger and brighter with a perfect nook in the back for flower fridges.

Ideally, he’d never keep flowers in fridges. But sometimes, it must to be done.

Ideally, there wouldn’t be pounding bass resonating from his new neighbor.

 _Tattoo parlor_ , he sneers to himself for the hundredth time today, angrily snipping dead leaves from his newest stock of tulips. _Tattoo parlor_!

He’d never learned his old neighbor’s name, just politely waved whenever they had crossed paths. One memorable time, he had brought her a bouquet that had been forgotten by a wedding party. The look on her face as she had held the small bundle of flowers had always stuck with him. She’d proudly displayed it on the countertop with her ancient cash register machine, in a small crystal vase.

Oh, how Severus misses her now. Her quiet little shop, devoid of pounding bass and loud customers in the ugliest clothes Severus has ever seen. He doesn’t even want know. No, he is quite alright, thank you. Just stay out of his shop.

Its a not so quiet weekday afternoon, with bright sun and birds and stupidly loud music from next door, when the bell over the door jingles happily. Severus glances up to greet his customer when he spots one of the garishly dressed idiots from next door. He frowns, and doesn’t try too hard not to scowl.

“Oh wow,” the visitor breathes, hands ghosting over petals and leaves as he turns, taking in the shop. “This is brilliant, I should have come here sooner.” Severus scowls, watches what he suspects are dirty hands that bruise and break as they touch everything within their reach.

“Can I,” Severus starts, letting his voice drip with with every ounce of annoyance he feels, “assist you with anything?”

“Er, yes….” his voice trails away, staring closely at a bouquet of Severus’ reddest chrysanthemums. “I, erm, I messed up and need to apologize. So, flowers.” He nods to himself, resolute. Severus narrows his eyes, watches as the boy grabs for the red buds.

“God, anything but that arrangement.” Severus turns, already exhausted.

“What’s wrong with this one?” the boy bristles. With a sigh, Severus turns back.

“Unless you feel like confessing your undying love, I suggest something a little more…” he trails off, waves a hand. “Cheery." With what almost could be a gulp, the young man pulls his hands from the bouquet, and shoves them deep into his back pockets.

“Right then,” he says, bouncing on the heels of his worn converse. “What do you suggest then?”

“Why are you apologizing?” The boy stares at him, a frown twisting his young face. Severus resists the urge to beat his head against a wall. “Flowers have a language, and what you did wrong will help me make a proper arrangement.”

His mouth falling open, the boy bounces on his heels again. “I missed dinner.” Then he ducks his head, and scrubs a hand through the wild mess of his hair. Severus barely contains his snort, grabbing a small vase to begin arranging.

First, he grabs purple hyacinth. Sorrow, please forgive me. Purple honesty, for forgetfulness. Next, he adds a white faced pansy with purple tips, for thoughtfulness. Last to be added is a single bloom of camellia japonica, for sincerity. “I’m sorry I forgot, I’ll not again.”

Severus nods to himself. He begins to wrap it, when he pauses. Grabs an oak-leaved geranium on a whim. Friendship. Perfect, he thinks to himself, efficiently wrapping the bundle in crinkling cellophane with a single band of tape to hold it all together. He presents is to the boy.

“Here,” he says, as the boy takes it, wonderingly. He stares down into the flowers as Severus stares down at him, acutely aware of their difference in height.

“This is….” he pauses, fingers tracing the petals from centimeters above. “Beautiful.” Then he looks up, a smile lighting up his face and suddenly Severus can’t breath. So he frowns instead. “Er, how much do I owe you for this?”

“Oh,” Severus turns, finally breaking eye contact with brilliant green eyes behind ugly and thick round frames. He starts making his way for his cash register, which is really just a tablet on a stand with a card reading attachment. Behind him, he hears the steps of scuffed shoes following closely. He starts keying in a price, while, out of the corner of his eye, he watches the young man juggle the bouquet while digging a hand in his back pocket.

He pulls out two crumpled bills, drops them on the table, and grins. Severus eyes the bills, silently debating if he really wants to touch them and whatever filth must be coating them. He looks up when he hears the lively jingling on the door, and his customer is gone.

With a shrug, Severus simply sweeps the bills into the cash drawer using a spare bit of card stock. No reason to touch it, if he doesn’t have to.

-

Its nearly two weeks later, on a dreary day trying its damnedest to not rain, when a nervous girl in studded boots and skull t-shirt steps in his shop. Severus immediately scowls, and the girl gulps, looking decidedly pale under her unnaturally blue and straight across fringe.

“Hi,” she squeaks out, folder hugged tightly to her chest. Severus simply raises an eyebrow. “I, er, I was told to come over here? By the owner next door?” Severus sighs, and moves to perch on his stool, chin in palm.

“And how, pray tell, am I to help you?” he drawls. The girl fidgets, looks down at her folder, and pulls in a big breath of fortifying air. Severus snorts. She glares at him, and stomps up to his counter.

“I want a tattoo of flowers, for my mom, and my grandfather. They meant a lot to me, and they died a few years back. So I thought I’d get a bunch of flowers growing, with the locket he gave my mother in it somewhere." She doesn't quite slam down her folder, but she lets it fall. Severus looks into her eyes, hard and glaring now, with shoulders set. He almost grins.

Instead he pulls the pocket folder closer to himself and flops it open, chin still firmly set on his other hand. He sees pictures of orange lilies, tulips, daffodils and one stray sunflower.[2] He feels a small smile tug at his lips as he shifts the papers around.

“Well, whatever personal meaning you have for these flowers will trump their traditional meanings. However,” he singles out the lily, shifts the daffodil closer to the sunflower, picks out a photo of a tulip. “Maybe consider adding zinnias. [3] Orange lilies are not appropriate, and tulips are more suited for romantic love than family. Though, I will say, white daffodils, paired with sunflowers and magenta zinnias would be a beautiful selection.”

The girl nods, digging in a messenger bag Severus only just notices. She withdraws her hand from its depth, a biro in her grasp.

She looks Severus in the eye, hand poised over the pages of flowers. "Right," she starts, writes 'zinnias - magenta' in tight cursive. "What exactly do daffodils mean?"

Severus barely holds back a smirk.

-

It isn’t a full day before Severus sees one of his… neighbors again. The young man walks in, making a bee-line for Severus before he recognizes him from the other day, and his missed dinner date bouquet. There’s a grin on his face and a spring in his step as he makes his way to Severus and his perch that is his favorite tall stool. Severus is amazed he could walk at all, considering how tight his trousers are, from hip to ankle.

“Hello,” the young man calls, face beaming still.

“Hi,” replies Severus, hesitant and eyeing the young man as he moves to lean on the counter. There's a silence, long and awkward as the boy looks around the shop, eyes pausing on the grouping of boutonnieres and bouquets for a wedding.

"Those are pretty," he states, leaning in his bespectacled face to get a closer look. Severus raises his eyebrows and resists swatting him with a roll of cellophane.

"Yes," he drawls in response. With long fingers, Severus shifts the foam stand out of the boy's reach. The boy hums, and leans back to bounce on his heels, hands shoved in his back pockets.

"They mean anything special?" Severus tries not to roll his eyes or scowl.

"Standard wedding fare. Love, peace, friendship." He pauses, looking down on his scraps of floral tape and baby's breath. He spots a bit of leaf stuck to the sleeve of his henley. Brushing it off, he looks up. "Forgive me, why are you here?"

The boy looks up sheepishly. "Well, I wanted to say thank you for--"

"The bouquet. Which you paid for. You don't need to thank me," Severus interrupts, allowing all his disdain and annoyance to seep into his words.

"Er, yes. But I also wanted to thank you for helping my customer--," Severus opens his mouth, because he's terribly confused by that when there is a particularly loud bang from the tattoo parlour, a laugh and some yelling, and then the walls begin to literally shake with the pounding of music.

Severus barely stops himself from braining his head on the edge of the counter to make it stop. He doesn't stop himself from pulling in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes close for a moment and he literally feels his pulse quicken and wonders what his blood pressure might be doing. Probably skyrocketing.

When he opens his eyes, the boy is staring blankly at the wall, his mouth slightly open. Then he turns, and his face turns from empty surprise to guilt instantly. "That's pretty loud."

"Yes," Severus seethes. He opens his mouth to issue what he sees is fitting invective, but the boy beats him to it.

"I'm sorry," he starts and Severus is shocked. "I'd no clue it was this loud." He nods decidedly, eyes serious behind those heinous glasses. "For a few of the artists, it's their first time in a professional shop. They get a little rowdy. I’ll do something about the sound.” Severus continues to sit in shocked silence. The pounding bass and a grating voice fill the space between them. The boys nods again. “Well, er, I’m going to just--?” He motions awkwardly towards the shared wall and then to himself, shifts on his feet. He takes a few steps backwards, nearly trods on his own feet but barely catches himself.

He smiles, blushing slightly, finally turns and promptly runs into the door. Severus blinks as the boy swears quietly, rubbing a hand against his face. The door opens with a jingle. With an awkward wave, the boy stumbles out the door.

Not moments later, he hears a voice, loud and distinctly annoyed through the wall. The words are indecipherable but the intent is clear. The silence that follows the hastily turned down music is almost deafening.

“What the fuck,” Severus says to his flowers.

-

Severus likes his home.

Maybe like is the wrong word.

He adores his home. Small, and sunny, full of his old furniture and photos of family. The lack of knick-knacks and bric a brac is replaced by dried flowers and fresh cuts from his very own garden. There also seems to be a slight dusting of fur on everything he owns from his angry gray (and really quite affectionate) cat.

Lately, his home has been more of a haven and escape than usual. Not just from the annoying customers, the ignorant mass just wanting a pretty bouquet to take home, but also from the horrid tattoo parlour.

Severus pauses at the door, dropping his keys onto a side table strategically placed for keys and coats. A jingle of a collar announces the cat's approach, but Severus doesn’t react, instead caught up in the day’s events.

The shock seems to have lasted, and confusion grew after that. Severus finds himself wanting to know who the young man with messy hair and ugly glasses and beautiful eyes is. He shakes his head, toes out of his shoes, and crouches to pet the angrily purring mass of fur.

“I’m being absurd,” he says calmly to the cat, running hands over her. She ignores him, marching and turning to encourage more petting. A small smile grows on Severus’ face. “Eh, Heather? Aren’t I?” He moves to scratch under her chin, and she leans her weight into his hands. Hefting her into his arms, he stands. [4]

“Let’s find some dinner,” he says into her fur, not allowing himself to think about messy hair and fascinating green eyes.

-

It shouldn’t be a surprise when the bell over the door jingles, announcing a customer. Or when the young man from the tattoo parlour comes walking. Severus looks up from his delicate work of wrapping boutonnieres and corsages in thin floral tape. He openly glares before looking back down to the ridiculous rose, baby’s breath and fern leaf jumbles. [5] His frustration peaks as he feels more so than hears how close the boy has come to his work station.

Tossing the bundle down, Severus looks up. “Can I help you?” he sneers.

“Er,” the young man starts, and blinks slowly. “I wanted to say sorry, because of the music thing. So I brought you a coffee from the place a few doors down.” Severus glares, eyeing the cup disdainfully.

“Are you dense? Were you dropped on your head as a child?” He seethes, rearing up. The boy blushes, and Severus knows he’s struck a nerve. “Why,” he knows exactly what he sounds like right now. “Would you think I want your empty apology and token? What makes you think I care about your existence? I don’t even know who you are.”

He knows he sounds ugly and mean.

“Right,” the boy says, voice tight. “Right, silly me.” An ugly smirk twists his face, and those green eyes turn hard. “I’ll just go.” He sets the paper cup on the countertop, away from the flowers, and boutonniere refuse. The sleeve falls and lands with a skittering noise. When Severus looks up from the cup, the door is already closing.

-

Severus is acutely aware he is being ridiculous and quite possibly childish. He is still moping, three days after the incident, though he would heartily deny that claim. He is not moping, he doesn’t he even know who he was, so he can not mope.

His god-son calls, and Severus finds himself greatly disenchanted. Normally he enjoys calls from the child. Often after, he’ll send the child on deliveries so he has a fair excuse to throw some money at him. Severus does not ask where the money goes, he would like to remain blissfully unaware so he can continue to assume it pays for food.

“Draco, please,” he interrupts the prolonged rambling, head resting on the back of his favorite high-backed reading chair in his living room. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk and see how you were doing, but I see you have better things to do than talk to me."

Severus begins to protest but stops himself. Instead he doesn't reply at all.

"That was rude," Draco says in a small voice.

With a sigh, Severus shifts in his seat. “It’s been a busy week for me, and surely for you as well.” He pitches his voice low in an attempt to soothe. “When will you be coming? It’s been entirely too quiet and relaxing without you here.”

Draco laughs and starts again, "I thought I'd come down tomorrow and then stay and help this weekend and do any deliveries or assembly you might need during the week. Then Sunday, go have dinner with my family before heading back to university. That fine with you?" Severus gives a sound of approval and heaves himself from his chair to amble over to his spare bedroom. Cracking the door open reveals the small room cluttered with boxes.

"Your room is occupied. You should have told me sooner you'd be staying."

"What?" The child squawks, forcing Severus to remove his phone from his ear. "What do you mean 'occupied'? Its my room!" Severus smiles to himself as he walks further into the room.

"I bought too much cellophane and tape, and then I needed foam--"

"So you're saying my bedroom is your store room? Fine, we can move it all to the shed."

"If you want to ruin my supplies. The shed leaks."

"Then I'll fix it," Draco grits out between clenched teeth. Severus smiles.

"The tarp and tools will be here when you get in."

-

“...she always spoke so highly of you and your flowers.” The woman sniffles again, and Severus nods. Distantly, he hears the bell over the door jingle, but he doesn’t look away from the distraught woman in front of him. Her fingers trace the edge of the crystal vase. “Every month, every month she’d come home with her flowers from here, telling us what all they meant.” The woman sighs. Severus carefully adds a drop of glue to the bright and sunny yellow ribbon.

“Finished,” he says in a low voice, attempting to be soothing where he knows he lacks patience. The woman nods, gifts him with a watery smile.

“Will you…” she starts, gulps. Now she traces petals with her shaking fingers. “Will you write down what they mean for me?” Severus nods. He turns away for a moment, to grab a scrap of cardstock and his favorite biro.

“White stargazer lilies are sympathy and regret. Pink carnations for remembrance. Roses for love and grief,” Severus carefully states as he writes. He notices the woman touching each flower in turn. “And azaleas. ‘Take care of yourself for me.’” Turning the card towards her, the woman smiles sadly.

“So, this bouquet says sorry, goodbye, take care?”

“Yes.”

She takes the card from the counter, runs her fingers along the bottom, then carefully slots it into a pocket of her purse. She meets his eyes. “Thank you, it's beautiful.” She reaches for the vase, and Severus stands.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I will miss Beatrice and her visits. She always told me such wonderful stories of her garden.” Severus walks with the woman to the door, pulling it open for her. “Please, do come again.”

“Thank you, again. Beatrice would have loved this bouquet.” She adjusts the vase before turning. Severus lets the door close, and turns to his flower shop. He heaves a sigh.

Then, as he remembers the jingle from earlier, sets to find his other customer. He finds a person standing in the alcove where all the orchids are gathered, under the hanging moss terrariums.

“Hello, may I he--” He stops himself short.

“Ah, hello again.” The young man turns around, and Severus feels his already dismal mood plummet further. The young man angles his attention back to the orchids. “These are beautiful.” Then his attention shifts again, fingers brushing against the glass orb of one the terrariums. “What are these?”

“Moss terrariums, made by a local artist,” Severus hears himself saying over the clacking of the orbs rocking into one another. The man reaches up hastily, to stop the swinging, causing his shirt to ride up. Turning away slightly, Severus forces his eyes away from the strip of flesh. “They’re self contained, only needing sunlight as all the moisture and needs are provided in the orb.”

“Oh wow.” A smile lights up his face, eager eyes turned up to inspect the varied sizes and moss types, all hanging at different heights. “That’s amazing. You said a local artist makes them?”

“Yes.” Severus breath catches in his chest. He mentally chides himself, confused by the sudden reaction.

“Well,” the boy drops his eyes to look at Severus, the smile still on his face. “I came to make things right because I’ve been an awful neighbor. So, its nice to finally meet you.” He sticks out a hand. Severus begins to move to shake it, when the door slams open.

Turning, Severus sees a flustered Draco, windswept with a large empty box barely still in his arms. “I finished the deliveries, I parked the van in the back--,” he stops abruptly, eyes sliding from Severus to the other boy in the room.

“Potter,” he says with every ounce of disdain in his body, dropping the box to his feet.

“Malfoy,” comes the voice from behind him. Severus raises an eyebrow at his nephew.

“What are you doing here?” Draco sneers.

“Just leaving actually. Cheers.” And Potter strides out of the flower shop, door closing with a merry jangle. A silence fills the room, only to be interrupted by Draco repeatedly scuffing the toe of his trainers against the box. Severus raises his other eyebrow, but Draco avoids his gaze. Instead, he grabs the box and carries it to the back room. Severus follows, intent on an answer.

He finds Draco fussing with a box of styrofoam rings used for holiday wreaths.

“Explain,” he says curtly.

“Explain what?” Draco replies, purposely dense. He tries to slide past to escape. Severus turns, trapping him with his gaze.

“Explain,” he repeats.

“Fine,” Draco grouses, dropping himself on to a case of printer paper. “Last term, Potter and I had Figure Drawing together. Before that, we had Painting. And before that, Drawing 1. I hate him.”

“Why,” Severus asks, though his voice does not inflect the question.

“He just, uuugh,” Draco groans, flopping his arms around dramatically. “He’s so bleeding nice. You know, how we do the the session where we receive criticism from the class and professor? He’s always the one giving compliments and nice remarks to horrible pieces. It drives me insane.” Severus raises his eyebrows again. “How is a person supposed to get better when you never criticize them? No, they’re going to stay shitty forever. Its useless.”

“He’s nice, so you hate him?”

“No, it isn’t that at all. He’d always have something nice to say to everyone, even if it was a weak or stupid compliment. He’d always say it. That’s what I hated. And he always did these stupid tattoo drawings, and talk about opening his own tattoo place.”

“He did,” Severus says calmly, turning back to his work space.

“What,” he hears Draco squawk as he scrambles to follow. “How do you know?”

“He’s my neighbor.”

“The- the tattoo parlor? Next door? You’re joking.”

“He’s an awful neighbor, was here to apologize. And then you showed up.”

Draco scuffs his toes against the floor again, looking shameful. “Well that explains why he quit university, I guess.” Severus scoffs.


	2. Chapter 2

A few days pass in a whirlwind of bridal orders and deliveries. Severus really does dislike the spring, regardless of the steady business. Nothing compares to the annoyance of repeatedly being asked for “just roses or something, but I need them in lavender for my colors”. There are a few brides, old families like his own, that come in with their colors and their stories, looking for bouquets and centerpieces to tell a story.

However, it's late at night when he’s pouring over bridal files of themes and locations, trying to puzzle out the best arrangements for each, that Severus keeps finding himself arranging buttercups and white peonies together. [6] The idea is beautiful, shame in immaturity, but it lacks an element to push it further, drive a meaning home. Severus leaves it to work on a tricky wedding with an outdoor ocean location, trying to find flowers sturdy enough to weather the wind and salt. 

Not a moment later, he’s digging through folders of his stock. Purple hyacinth? Perfect meaning, but too chaotic of a form. Its height and multiple blooms throwing the simple buttercup and the feathery peony out of balance. “Blue bell? Guilt, regret,” Severus mutters to himself, considering. “No, the color is wrong.” 

He sits back in his chair, stumped. Frustration settles in his belly. Why does he care about creating the perfect apology? He doesn’t. He doesn’t care about Potter and his stupid tattoo parlor in the least. He has bridal work to do and that is much more important than apologizing to a rude and insolent neighbor who never even introduced himself. Severus frowns, breathes out roughly through his nose.

Heather trills at his feet, marching her furry back legs as if to jump. He feels his frown lessen and reaches, scooping her into his arms.

“I’m an idiot.”

\--

Severus finds his mind wandering to the idiotic bouquet the next day as well. The image of peonies and buttercups with an auspiciously empty space in the center plagues him for a majority of the day. 

Maybe the bouquet doesn’t need a flower begging forgiveness, but offering friendship, Severus considers. His lip curls in disdain as he sketches, adding another flower to a potential centerpiece for a picky bride. He gives the centerpiece height, then adds a registry book in front of it.

In a bout of frustration, he pushes the sketch book away, scattering photos of flowers.

\--

He decides to deliver the flowers when he normally takes his lunch.

Bracing himself, Severus juggles the vase and his keys, locking the door of his shop. Gusts of wind batter the flowers, and the small potted bushes he maintains in front of his store. Carefully wrapping an arm around the vase, he trots over to the tattoo shop.

The wind does its best to pull the door from his grasp, but Severus closes it tightly behind him. Turning, he takes in the tattoo parlor once antique shop. 

Posters of flare and canvas paintings litter the walls. A couch with a low coffee table placed to the left, small black portfolio books cluttering the surface. A tall black folding screen creates privacy, Severus assumes, for customers being worked on in the back.

To his right, Severus takes in a long glass case, most likely a remnant of the antique shop, full of jewelry. Behind it stands a young woman, bushy hair falling in waves as she carefully balances an accounts book, typing furiously into a calculator. She looks up, and Severus makes out spiraling tattoos barely covered by her t-shirt sleeves.

“Welcome!” she greets warmly, closing the book and pushing it away. “How may I help?”

Severus hears laughter from the back, an insistent buzzing and immediately feels foolish.

“I have a delivery for Mr. Potter,” he offers instead.

“Ah,” the young woman starts, leaning onto the glass case. “Harry isn’t here, he ran out to get some supplies. Would you like to wait for him?”

“No,” says Severus, quickly. He strides to the counter, sets the crystal vase carefully on the surface. The woman’s mouth falls open in a little ‘o’ shape.

“These are beautiful,” she coos, slowly turning the vase. “Would you like to leave a note?”

“No,” Severus repeats. He turns, strides back to the door. He’s about to leave, hand on the handle when he turns slightly. “He’ll know who they’re from.” And then, before the woman can say anything, he sweeps out in the blistery weather.

-

The next day finds Severus tidying his work area, rearranging to make room for the bouquets of one of the picky brides. He feels relief, finally able to fill the order, days away from the event. A call to his favorite nursery ensures the delivery of required lilies, lavender, and purple lilacs. [7] The bride, Lindsay marrying Liam, insisted on flowers having L-names as well.

Severus had barely restrained telling her multiple times what he thought of the magnitude of her stupidity.

A jingle of the door makes Severus whip his head around, expecting his usual flower courier. Instead, he sees Potter, eyes bright and inspecting Severus’s favorite hydrangeas. There’s a flower, a single bloom, delicately held between his fingers. Severus blushes when he recognizes it from the bouquet, and quickly turns away.

He struggles for a moment to calm himself, carefully wrapping loose ribbon back on its spool. Breathing in deep, he tries to sort his mind, confused again by his reaction to Potter.

“Hello,” calls Potter, finally coming closer to the counter. Severus turns slowly, favoring to inspect Potter’s face from over his shoulder.

“Hello, how may I help you?” Severus inquires, carefully keeping his voice neutral. Potter smiles, then looks down to his hands, twirling the flower between his fingers.

“The flowers were beautiful,” he says, head still tilted down. Severus nods, turning fully back to the ribbon. “What do they mean?” Severus stills.

“What?”

“The flowers. You told me the first time I came here that flowers have special meanings.” Potter looks up from his hands, still smiling. “Well, not in so many words.”

Severus continues to slowly wind the ribbon around the spool. Finally having his wits gathered around him, Severus turns, and rests his hands in his lap.

“Buttercup for childishness, peony for shame, white chrysanthemum for honesty,” he lists, glances down at Potter’s hands. “A single purple hyacinth for regret.” Potter nods, chewing on his lip.

“So, essentially, ‘I’m sorry I was immature, please forgive me’?” Severus nods. “Apology accepted, I was also childish.”

A silence stretches between them. Severus inspects Potter’s trainers, amazed the worn and duct taped Converse still function as shoes.

“I still don’t know your name. Hermione only told me I’d know who sent the flowers.” The sentence draws Severus’s attention to Potter’s face.

“Severus Snape.” Potter beams, thrusts his right hand forward.

“Harry Potter.” Severus nods, as if he didn’t already know. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Severus says, not completely forgetting his manners.

“Same,” Potter replies, bouncing on his heels, spinning the flower between his fingers again. “Thank you, for the flowers, if I haven’t said that already.” He stops twirling the flower, instead bringing it up to brush the petals along his lips. Severus follows the motion with his eyes, before forcing himself to look away. “I have a lot of appointments, so I’d better go.”

A smile plays on Potter’s face, as he drops his hands down to his sides. He takes a step back, turning smoothly. Just as he lays a hand on the door, he pauses, and turns back.

“Did you teach Malfoy flower language?”

“Yes,” Severus answers, puzzled. “Draco’s family is very old, traditional, and as his godfather, it fell to me to educate him in the arts.” Potter nods, tilting his head to the side. He seems to contemplate something for a moment before speaking.

“That makes sense,” he offers. “Malfoy spoke a lot about flowers in the painting class we both had.” Severus nods. “Ok, ok, I’m actually going to leave--,” Potter hauls the door open, stepping out in the sunshine filled afternoon.

“No wait, one second,” he says, stepping back in and holding the door open. Severus cocks an eyebrow. “We’re having a… thing at the shop to celebrate opening. I’d like to invite you.”

“Alright,” Severus says, feeling horribly confused. “When is it?”

“We haven’t decided.” Harry laughs. “I’ll get you an invite when it happens.” He grins, his expression open and bright. “Thank you again. Bye, Severus!”

The door swings shut, bell jingling, all while Severus can’t seem to catch his breath.

-

A bright moon lights the parking lot as Severus finally parks his delivery van. He hauls himself from the driver’s seat, exhaustion seeming to seep from out of his bones. Glancing at his watch, he sighs in utter exasperation.

Two hours. Two hours late.

Rather than simply jump into his car and deposit himself into his bed, Severus walks over to the tattoo parlor.

It's one of few stores still lit up, despite the hour. Of course, tonight is the evening of the celebration. Severus steels himself, breathing deeply and gazing up to the dark sky. He grasps the door, and finally enters.

Inside is quieter than he expected, but still surprisingly crowded. Groups of people clutter the space, while music quietly plays. Severus can’t place the genre, as he takes in the multitude of people. He spots a number of people in dirty, torn and disgusting clothes he has come to associate with the establishment. However, he is shocked to see a smattering of older women in formal wear, men in khakis and dress pants as well as what are obviously students in street clothes. He glances down at himself, black slacks with a charcoal dress shirt. Self-conscious, Severus tugs at his long sleeves.

Turning, he finds the young woman with bushy hair. Hermione, Severus recalls Harry calling her. Tonight, she has her voluminous hair pulled into a bun, showcasing a number of tattoos on her collarbones. The sleeves of her dress expose the half sleeves, one of DNA and stars. Severus makes his way to her.

“Good evening,” he announces himself, as he draws near. A grin spreads across her young face.

“You made it! Harry will be so happy.” She nods, pleased, and takes a sip of a beverage from a small plastic cup. “Severus, right?” Nodding, Severus scans the room again.

“He stepped out for a breath of fresh air.” Severus nods again. 

“I’m afraid we’ve never been introduced,” Severus offers in way of conversation.

“Oh,” she exclaims. “Hermione Granger.” A wide grin and a hand offered to shake. Severus takes it.

“Severus Snape.” Granger smiles.

“I’m the shop manager, Harry is the owner and head artist. The we have-- Ron!” she yells into a crowd. A ginger man turns. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over. Severus regards the tattoos on his knuckles, the shaved sides of his head. “Ron Weasley, the other main artist.” Severus nods, offering his hand and repeating his name again.

“Oh, shit,” Weasley vigorously shakes Severus’s hand. “You’re the flower bloke then. Sorry about the noise.” Severus attempts a smile. “It's nice of you to finally show up, Harry’s only been waiting on you all night.” There’s a note of hostility in his tone, and Severus’ feeble smile slips.

Hermione gapes at Weasley for a moment, swatting a hand at him. Weasley shrugs and offers a vaguely apologetic smile.

A silence fills a little, and Severus notices Weasley slinging an arm over Granger’s shoulders. Another ginger man yells to Weasley and he excuses himself, but not before dropping a kiss to Granger’s cheek.

“So, how long have you been in business? This is such a wonderful area.” Granger smiles warmly.

-

A small gust of cold night air fills the room as the door is opened. Severus keeps his attention on Hermione, intent on their discussion.

“No,” he says, interrupting. “The language created by Jackson Pollock’s work was integral to the abstract expressionism, he allowed art to revert to a more natural form. Less about skill and more about form and color.”

Hermione shakes her head. “You mention Georgia O’Keffe. She was more affiliated with the women’s--oh, hello Harry, women’s art movement. Sure, she made abstract paintings. Of vaginas.” Severus rolls his eyes, prompting Hermione to frown. 

“Let’s make this about sex. Post-structuralism and all that nonsense,” Severus begins. “Jackson Pollock is widely acclaimed to make the epitome of male art--”

“Because the paint brush is his member and the paint his seed, yes.” Hermione motions for Severus to continue.

“And O’Keffe paints vaginas.”

“Except when this was theorized, she painted a large and very phallic building,” Hermione challenges. Severus purses his lips, barely stopping himself from crossing his arms. “Harry, you took art history, tell us what you think.” 

Severus nearly jumps, having not noticed Potter’s approach. He feels his face flush and takes a great interest in his cup of spiked punch 

“Ah, no. The last time you tricked me into talking art, you knew more than me.” Potter throws up his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.” Hermione scowls at him.

A moment of silence edging into a second moment fills the space between them. Severus watches, apprehensive of the fierce look Hermione has levelled on Potter. Her gaze is unwavering. Even Potter seems to balk at her intensity.

“Harry Potter, you are an artist. It is your duty to care about these things, because if you, an artist doesn’t care--.” Potter shifts his feet, under assault of Hermione’s words. Severus catches his eye, gestures to his cup and then vaguely behind him. A nod, and then a quick and bright smile releases him from the conversation. He hesitates for just a moment, but nods in return and makes his escape.

Severus isn’t sure how much later in the evening it is when he feels someone drop onto the couch beside him, jostling him. He thinks for a moment, continuing the thumb through the portfolio book.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t holding my drink when you did that.” A small snort, and Severus glances to this right, then reverts his gaze to the book. “I like this one best,” Severus says, flipping to a page he had marked with his thumb.

“Which one?” Potter leans over, crowding into Severus’s space as he tries to see which page. “I like that one too. It's a grosbeak, the guy said it's a symbol for healing. He’d recently lost his mother, and she loved birds, so it was for her.” As he explains, Potter traces the tail feathers of the bird. Severus hums, taking a small sip of his nearly empty drink, the spiked drink warming his chest. His eyes rove over Potter’s arms, puzzled at his lack of tattoos.

His eyes fall to Potter’s left wrist. Bands of leather cord bracelets, some braided, some with charms, barely cover a black inked symbol. Severus reaches out, runs a thumb over the edge of the tattoo not hidden, all before he thinks better of it.

“What’s this one mean?” He feels unbalanced, and very much unlike himself. For a moment, it seems he has forgotten how to breathe.

“A reminder,” Potter’s voice is low. “that I’m stronger than I think I am.” Severus looks up from Potter’s wrist, his hand still grasped around it, thumb still pressing into the tattoo. Potter’s eyes are downcast, and feels himself blush. Severus lets go of his wrist, drawing Potter’s gaze to his own.

He then realizes he’s still holding his mostly empty cup in his other hand.

“I’m going to--,” he gestures to the cup, and stands shakily. He gathers a deep breath, wills himself calm. 

“Do you need help?” Potter sits forward, attentive as he watches Severus sway.

“I’m quite alright,” Severus nearly sneers, retreating back into coolness. He walks slowly to the counter, tossing the cup into the trash can behind it. It's then he notices most people have left, leaving only a fairly sizable crowd of red-heads.

Returning, Severus raises his eyebrow at them, and then Potter.

“Ron’s family, mine too I guess.” He offers a small smile. 

“I’d better go.” Severus can’t bear to embarrass himself further, not when he feels so uncomfortably aroused. “I drank too much, I think.” Potter laughs. “Have a good evening.” He turns away, hoping to make a quick escape.

Potter scrambles to his feet. “Wait, how’re you getting home? You can’t drive.”

“A cab,” Severus says, drily. 

“What, that’s too expensive. You can crash at my place, it isn’t fair.” Severus opens his mouth to refuse, to say he's older and can afford, and are you dense leave me alone. Potter doesn’t seem allow him to get a word in edgewise. “Lemme grab my coat and say goodnight.”

He leaves Severus standing near the door, dumbfounded.

-

The door swings open, revealing a small apartment. 

“Er, here we are.” Potter leads the way, stepping into the small entryway. He drops his coat onto the back of a simple wooden chair, gesturing for Severus to do the same. “Sorry, it's awful.”

Stepping in further behind him, Severus turns, taking in the small space. Its cluttered with plain white walls, but clean. The only mess he can spot is a small coffee table littered with sketchbooks, magazines and mail. Potter fidgets with a blanket draped over the back of a small wood framed futon.

“It isn’t awful,” Severus refutes. “You are an awful host, however.” Potter looks over his shoulder to him, a shocked look on his face.

“What?” Severus smirks.

“A good host offers a drink and a tour of their home.” A laugh, light and true, startles out of Potter. The reaction pleases Severus, and he’s sure he looks rather silly standing just inside of the entry way with a smug smile. He gives himself a mental shake, never having been one to tease and stand for looking silly.

“Well,” Potter says, walking to his kitchen and stooping to look in the fridge. “I’ve got water, and shitty beer.” Severus steps in further, trying not to stare too hard at Potter’s ass.

“Water,” he says, primly. Potter nods, grabbing two bottles. He twists the lid off before handing the bottle to Severus. “Thank you,” he mumbles, taking a swallow.

They stand a moment, both taking slow drinks of their water. Severus finds he likes the open kitchen, the counter with stools to one side. He wonders how hard it would be to knock out a wall in his own.

“So, tour!” Potter exclaims, dropping his empty water bottle into the trash. “This is the kitchen, that door to your left is the bathroom, that’s the living room.” He looks around himself. “Aaaand that’s everything.” Severus turns, taking in the small space again, the window facing a brick wall.

“You don’t have a bedroom?” He curses his drunken self, cringes, still turned away from Potter. Though, the room fills with laughter again, regardless of his embarrassment.

“Actually, I have a balcony with a great view, if you’d like to see.” Still rather embarrassed, Severus nods. Potter gesture for him to follow.

Potter’s room is cozy, all warm tones, and clean walls. A small wardrobe commandeers a good portion of the room, a desk squeezed in beside it. Potter goes to the sliding glass doors, and begins fighting the blinds. Severus sits heavily onto the bed, suddenly tired.

His foot bumps into something very solid. He looks down, spots a plastic bin next to this foot. A closer look reveals it to be full of food. Ramen, canned fruit, crackers. His brow furrows.

“May I ask,” Severus starts, folding over himself to reach down to pick up the tote. He heaves it into his lap. “Why do you have a small pantry in your room?” 

Potter freezes.

“No reason,” He says slowly, turning. His eyes are fixed on the tote in Severus’s lap. “Mostly to hide my junk food from Ron and Hermione. Ron will eat it all, and Hermione will yell at me to be healthier.” Severus snorts. Potter takes the bin from his lap, and places it back on the floor. He swiftly pushes it under the bed with his foot.

Severus looks up from his lap, surprised by how close Harry’s face is. Harry looks up, noticing as well. His eyes flick down to Severus’s mouth, and Severus, shocked, holds his breath. Severus, unsure of the correct response, stiffly holds himself perfectly still--

Potter straightens, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.

“Look, the view from the balcony is great!” He’s already across the room and sliding the door open before Severus’s mind truly processes what just happened. He joins Potter on the balcony.

-

Severus wakes to a bright room he doesn’t remember, with a crick in his neck and a dry mouth. He hears rummaging, a metallic clacking of pans, and knows what woke him. A few moments help him remember where he is.

Sitting up slowly, Severus searches quickly for his discarded jumper. He spots it, and deftly pulls it on over his undershirt. He runs a hand through his hair, slumping into the futon for just a moment longer. Gathering his wits about himself, he stands and turns.

Potter is grinning, dressed and freshly showered. He cracks an egg into a pan.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asks happily, as if he wasn’t still awake just hours ago, wasn’t standing on a balcony, trying to convince Severus to watch the sunrise with him. Severus shoves his feet into his shoes.

“I can’t stay,” he says instead. Potter turns, the grin slipping from his face, confusion wrinkling his brow. “I have another delivery today, and I have to pick up stock for the week from the nursery.” Potter’s frown deepens.

Severus stands, unsure of himself.“Thank you. I'm sorry," he offers instead. Potter waves off his apology.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you this week?” Severus nods. 

“Yes. Good bye.” The door closes heavily behind him. He doesn’t hear Potter’s response.

-

Home, finally home, Severus lets his head fall against the wall. Heather meows loudly, happy at his return or begging for food. Severus is unsure of which.

“What the fuck and I doing?”

-

Severus refuses to let it bother him. He refuses to dwell, and instead settles quickly into his weekly routine. But there’s a niggling thought at the back of his mind that simply can’t be put to rest.

He waits until it's late afternoon, when he knows Potter and Weasley will be their busiest. Locking up his shop, Severus calmly walks over to the tattoo parlor, pocketing his keys as to prevent himself from fiddling with them.

“Hello!” Hermione calls happily over the sound of music, and buzzing tattoo machines. "He's with a customer, but he should be done within the hour." Severus shakes his head.

"Actually, I was looking for you." Hermione looks surprised, then takes a slip of paper-- a business card-- and places it in the catalog she was browsing. She closes it with a thump.

“You have my undivided attention,” she says with a grin.

“I have a question about… Harry,” he says. “There was something strange I noticed.” Hermione raises her eyebrows, gestures for Severus to continue. “The food. In his room,” Severus specifies.

Hermione’s open expression suddenly fades. “I can’t talk about that. It wouldn’t be fair to Harry.” Severus frowns. “He doesn’t like talking about it,” she says with a shrug. “Plus, it's from before I met him and Ron.” Desperate, though he doesn’t know why, for more information about Harry, Severus quickly changes the topic. 

“When did you meet?” Hermione laughs.

“A few years ago. I was in school for my business degree, Harry and Ron were taking accounting because the artists they were apprenticing with made them.”

“We would have failed without her,” Ron hollers from the back of the shop. Severus watches as he grabs a roll of paper towels off a shelf. “Never did let us copy her homework, but she did help us study and checked our homework.” He steps back into his work area, hidden behind the folding screen again. Severus turns back to Hermione. The soft happy look on her face is almost sickening.

“What did you major in?” Severus asks, pulling the catalog towards himself.

“Business.” Hermione leans her elbows onto the glass case, resting her chin in her hands. “I started in Medical, and absolutely hated it. It was boring. My parents are dentists,” she explains. “So I took a bunch of anthropology courses, and then social work classes.” She sighs. “I hated that too. Not the work, I loved helping people.” Hermione stands, kicks a stool so she can sit, and gestures for Severus to sit as well. “I hated the system.”

Severus nods, sitting himself on the tall stool. “Then what?”

“Then I took business courses, thought if I wanted to change the system, I’d have to go to the top. A social worker fighting for a single kid won’t make a difference. A person with money? They change things.” She sighs again, looks around the small shop. “Then I realized, I don’t need to change the world. Why don’t I just make my community better. So here I am.” Returning her attention to Severus, she smiles. He gets caught up in it and smiles back.

“Draco,” Severus starts, “my godson, they met in painting last year.” 

“Harry told us,” Hermione says brightly. “Is Draco an art major?”

“He hasn’t decided.” Severus trails off. “This is only his second semester full-time.” He doesn’t mention that Draco took a few years off, and was involved with a bad group. Doesn’t mention he was in the group too, when he was younger. Doesn’t mention Draco’s father still is. He resists rubbing his left forearm, doesn’t dare think of what he knows is hidden there.

Just then, Ron trundles out with his customer. 

The woman with short cropped hair, and many ear piercings carefully holds out her right arm. Hermione quickly stands, pulling out a tablet from the below the counter and lining it up to take some photos. Ron stands off to the side, carefully keeping his gloved hands from touching anything.

Once Hermione is done, he quickly rubs clear ointment on the tattoo and steps back. Severus finally gets a good look at the fresh tattoo. The girl seems pleased, a japanese cartoon styled girl with a short skirt and a huge ax, banners above and below her head stating “too kawaii to live, too sugoi to die”. Her upper arm is covered in another short skirted girl, this one with a wand and long pigtails, a moon behind her.

Ron wraps the tattoo in plastic, then tapes it. “I love doing your anime stuff!” he enthuses. The girl smiles, and they high five.“I’ll see you in a couple months, yeah? I got a few more ideas for some more.” Ron pumps a fist in the air, obviously excited. The customer laughs, and with a wave, slams the door closed behind her.

“What’re you two up?” Ron asks, slinging his arm over Hermione’s while she quickly types on the tablet. 

“Talking about how we met Harry,” she offers, distractedly. “There, posted on the facebook page.” Ron laughs.

“Oh shit, you tell him how we met?” Hermione shakes her head. “Hang on, I gotta clean my workstation first.” She stands, and points to the stool.

“I’ll do it, you tell the story.” Ron’s face light up.

“You’re the best!” he yells to her back as she makes her way to his area. Severus hears Potter’s tattoo machine stop and laughter. “She’s the best,” Ron repeats, quieter. Severus resists shaking his head at Ron’s foolish antics.

Potter’s tattoo machine starts back up.

“Anyways,” he starts, glancing back at Severus. Instead of continuing, Ron stands, placing the catalog Hermione was browsing onto the highest shelf behind the counter. “We met in Secondary school. First day, I’m waiting for the bus, and here’s this scrawny kid just sitting on the curb across the street.” He pauses, putting Hermione’s ledger on top of the catalog. Severus raises an eyebrow. Ron shrugs.

“Anyways,” he repeats. “These blokes go over to this scrawny kid, and they start giving him shit. I was tall for my age, so I went over to stop them since the kid looked like he was having a rough go at it.” Ron shrugs again, placing the calculator on top of the ledger. He grabs Hermione’s water bottle, begins placing it on the highest shelf, then seems to rethink.

Instead he places it on the shelf just under. He nods to himself, satisfied.

“We end up having a brawl right there in the street. Split my lip, and Harry broke his glasses and cut up his knuckles, so I took him home with me to fix him up. Mum went mad when she saw the bathroom.”

“On a scale of pink hair to stealing your dad’s car, how angry was your Mum?” Hermione prompts, returning. Ron snorts.

“Well, she wasn’t that angry about the car thing, we did rescue Harry from his aunt and uncle.” Ron puffs out his chest. “They’d locked him in his room for the summer,” he advises Severus. Severus nods slowly. What sort of people lock a child in their room for a summer? he thinks, filing away the casual remark.

Hermione makes to steal her stool back from Ron when she notices the catalog is missing. She narrows her eyes at him.

“And the pink hair wasn’t my fault,” Ron insists. “It was all Ginny’s fault.” Standing, Ron searches a shelf cluttered with framed photos. He grabs one hidden in the back, and thrusts it at Severus.

“Indeed, that is pink,” Severus advises drily. Ron scowls for a just a moment at his tone. Opting to ignore the dour expression, Severus inspects the photo, taking in a hoard of red-haired freckled boys, a woman that must be Mrs. Weasley, and a coyly grinning girl that must be Ginny. Then there’s Harry, in the middle, with a cake in front of him proudly stating ‘Happy Birthday’ with the number 16.

Harry is smiling, but he looks tired, and the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Severus furrows his brows, taking in Harry’s thin arms and baggy shirt.

“That was his 16th birthday,” Ron explains. Severus stares at him for a moment. “He moved in with us right before that.”

Severus opens his mouth when the electronic chime of the door interrupts. A customer walks in, and Ron rushes to greet them. He leads the customer back to his work area. Hermione finds her catalog and heaves an impressive sigh.

“Would you like me to…?” Severus gestures, and Hermione nods. He’s just grabbing her water bottle, the calculator, catalog and ledger already safely retrieved when Harry and his customer step past the black screen.

Harry grins and waves to Severus before focusing on Hermione.

“Think we should add this one to the portfolio?” Hermione quickly rises from her stool, leaning in close to the man’s bicep. She breathes out, stunned by the work. Then words are falling from her mouth in a stream of praise, commenting on the composition paired with the color, how it interacts with the other tattoos.

The customer seems to glow and Harry smiles, soft and happy at Hermione.

“I’m going to take pictures right now,” she announces, grabbing the tablet again. “Will you come back when it’s healed so we can get even better photos?” The customer laughs, and nods, carefully positioning his arm so Hermione may get the best angle possible.

Severus takes in the image of mountains, dark ink with swatches of blue. The sky of blue and gold tones just hints at the rising of a sun. There are concentric circles through the sky, rough sketched lines framing the feathered out edges of the mountains and sky. It feels hopeful.

As soon as Hermione finishes, nodding, Harry steps in and smears what appears to be the same type of ointment Ron used on the previous customer’s arm. He wraps it carefully, smoothing tape to hold the plastic in place. Severus watches Harry’s fingers, tender and confident. Blushing, he turns to watch as Hermione types quickly on the tablet. 

He watches her for a moment, but he looks up when he hears the door close. Harry gives a smirk, and then gestures for Severus to follow. Glancing at Hermione, he follows Harry behind the black screen.

Unsure, Severus stands just barely in the workspace, watching as Harry begins cleaning. The space is small, but glowing with extra lamps. A floating wall separates his and Ron’s work areas. Harry pulls forward a trashcan, dropping dirty paper towels and little caps of ink into it. He pauses for a moment.

“Hi.” Harry’s voice is chirpy. 

Severus blinks. “Hello.” Harry grins in response to the greeting, and continues cleaning. He begins disassembling his tattoo gun. 

“Thank you, for Sunday. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay,” Severus says, slowly. Harry pulls a face, and Severus can’t help but feel charmed by it.

“Not your fault.” He pauses for a moment, carefully detaching a long cable that Severus has no clue as to the purpose of from the tattoo machine. “I didn’t ask before if you had plans. It was selfish and wrong of me to assume.” He shrugs, eyes fixed on his hands.

“It was kind of you to offer,” Severus volunteers. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Harry fires back, shrugging again. Harry looks up then, smiling. “How has your week been?” His voice is perky again, obviously changing the subject. Severus shifts his feet.

“Busy.”

Harry frowns, tiling his head. “Because it's spring?”

“Yes. This is bridal season, and prom season.” Harry nods, his eyes on his tattoo machine again. 

“I was wondering,” Harry starts, and then pauses as if uncertain. He stands. “I was wondering if I could learn more about the meanings of flowers from you? So many people ask for flowers in their tattoos, and I should really know--”

“Of course. I have some books you could borrow.” Harry beams, coming closer. Severus’s eyes quickly flick to Harry’s feet, and shifts minutely closer. “I should be going.” Severus hesitates. “I have some flowers I need to pick up before the nursery closes.”

“Nursery?”

“Plant nursery,” Severus explains. “I use them for special orders. Most of my standard stock I order through a few companies, and grow a small amount of my own. The nursery is for when I need just a handful of something for a wedding or event.” 

“That’s amazing,” Harry enthuses. Severus allows himself a small smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Harry looks down at his feet. After a moment, he looks up at Severus through his eyelashes. Severus suddenly finds that breathing is very difficult. “Is it ok if I come by tomorrow?” Harry asks.

“Yes.” 

Harry’s smile is dazzling, and he ghosts fingers over Severus’s right wrist. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Harry asks, eyes focused on his fingers.

“Yes,” Severus repeats, Harry’s fingers still on his wrist. “Have a good evening.”

“Thanks.” Harry drops his hand, and the moment ends. They hear the door open, booth turning toward the sound.

“I’d better--?”

“Er, yeah, that’s probably my--”

“I’ll see you--”

“Tomorrow, yeah?” They both stammer. Harry grins. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Severus nods. And before he can make a fool of himself, he escapes to the front of the shop and swiftly out the door. He pauses for only a brief moment to wave and bid good evening to Hermione.

-

Tomorrow.

Severus wants to break things. Or maybe just bash his head into a wall.

“Yes, we deliver. Of course, ma’am.” Maybe bash this woman’s head into a wall. Yes, Severus decides. That would be better. He feels his face twist into a sneer. “However, we only have one delivery driver and that time was booked by a previous custom--.” 

Vaguely, over the sound of the irate woman protesting, Severus hears the door open. He glances up for just a moment, spotting Harry.

“I understand. However, as I was explaining, I only have one driver for deliveries, and the time you are requesting has already be taken by another customer three weeks ago. I can offer you a time before or after.” Severus feels like gritting his teeth. As the woman begins insisting her flowers must be delivered at the still unavailable time, Severus glances up at Harry. He watches as Harry chews his lip, worriedly. 

Severus waves him off, gesturing to a stool towards the end of his little counter.

“I’m aware, ma’am, and I apologize for the inconvenience. Again, this customer made their appointment three weeks ago, I can not cancel their delivery.”

Harry, now sitting, leans into Severus space to look at his brief notes for the phone call. Severus can’t help but watch as Harry’s lips carefully form the words of the location and time as he reads. The woman continues ranting, and Severus just can not care.

“I can do the delivery,” Harry says quietly. “That isn’t far from here. I could take a short break tomorrow and run whatever she needs over.”

Severus frowns, considering.

“Ma’am, please hold.” The woman squawks, but Severus mashes the mute button on his cordless phone. He carefully sets the phone on the counter instead of slamming it down like he wants. He considers Harry for a moment. “I can’t accept your help. I’ll call Draco and have him come and make the delivery tomorrow. Or I’ll deliver the other order early.”

“Have him drive all the way down for a delivery?” Harry sounds annoyed, and crosses his arms. “Sounds like a great use of his time. He’s a student. Let me take it.” Severus feels like groaning. He grabs the phone, unmuting it.

“I’ll need a name to make the delivery.” The woman quickly gives her information and Severus books her order, confirming the arrangement and price. Severus hangs up before he says something he regrets to a customer. 

He allows himself to just sit for a moment, before turning to Harry.

Harry’s writing the address on his hand with a biro and Severus suddenly wants to bash his head into the wall again.

“Come by tomorrow fifteen minutes before you need to leave, please.” Harry looks up from his hand, and nods. “Please wear something presentable,” he adds, eying Harry’s ragged jeans and destroyed Converse. “Black,” he specifies.

“Yes, sir,” Harry leans forward, arms cross and resting on his legs. Severus is suddenly aware of how close they’re sitting. This keeps happening, he wildly thinks to himself, unable to move.

The moment breaks when the phone rings again. Severus let’s himself sigh, and Harry grins. He points himself, to the door, then raises his hands to flash some numbers, indicating something Severus doesn’t understand. Then he waves, and Severus nods, waving back.

He answers the phone.

-

The next day dawns bright and clear with a brisk wind. Severus is immediately suspicious the weather will break and end in rain, putting a wrench in the day’s deliveries.

To Severus’ surprise the weather holds, and Harry happily walks in exactly fifteen minutes past 1. He’s just finishing wrapping the large vases in plastic, as to protect to ceramic from scuffs from the foam casing in the box by his feet. Severus gestures for Harry to sit while he carefully places the vases in the boxes.

“Am I presentable?” Harry asks. Severus spares him a glance, delicately laying ribbons with gold and glittering lettering over the foam inserts, between the vases. His glance drags out as he takes in black sneakers, long legs, dark jeans, black v-neck and a--

“What is that atrocity on your head?” Harry’s hands fly to the hat, a slouchy gray knitted thing.

“It's Ron’s. He and Hermione said my hair was too messy.” Severus scrubs a hand over his face.

“Fine,” he concedes. “This case is yours.” He gestures to the box he just finished packing. “My delivery is farther, I’ll still be gone by the time you get back. You can leave the case at the place, or just drop it off at my back door.” 

Harry nods, eyes locked on the case. “Sounds easy.” 

Severus purses his lips. He thrusts his hand out to Harry, palm up. 

Harry eyes it, dubious. “What?”

 

“Your phone,” he demands. “Please,” he adds. Harry squints, but digs his phone out of his pocket. Severus snatches it from his hands, and begins quickly typing his number in. “I’m giving you my number, just in case something goes wrong. Just call, or whatever.” He hands the phone back.

“Er, alright.” A pause. “Can I text?”

“Yes,” Severus says, turning away to start loading his own delivery. 

“Brilliant,” Harry enthuses.

-

Twenty minutes later he gets a text of “All done! :)”. He can’t help but smile into his phone.

-

Severus tries talking himself out of it. And by really tries, Severus doesn’t really try at all. He knows that if he truly wanted to be talked out his idiotic plan, he’d simply call Draco.

But he doesn’t call Draco.

Instead, exactly three days after the text from Harry, he can’t decide if he should buy him a coffee from the local cafe. Or to send a bouquet. Part of him feels the coffee is too little for Harry’s gracious help. The other part feels the bouquet is too obvious and expected.

He sighs, trims the juvenile hydrangea a little too viciously. He frowns down at it. Running a finger over the large leaves, he breathes in the smell of flowers and moisture. Severus looks around his floral shop, hand still tracing shapes into the leaves. It is quiet and calm.

He looks back down to his hands, suddenly knowing what he’s going to do.

-

The next day he delivers what he thinks might be his best arrangement. He delivers it to the tattoo parlor next door.

Smiling brightly, Hermione nods obligingly when Severus insists on not calling Harry over right this moment to see the flowers. She adjusts the card tucked into the blooms, places the bouquet in the very center of the long glass case. It looks strange to Severus, the glass vase suspended over piles of jewelry, ranging from bars to massive plugs.

Hermione waves him off, decisively turning back to her many forms and terrifying ledger.

-

Severus isn’t surprised when his door flies open not even a few hours later. He isn’t surprised when Harry walks in, the decorative piece of cardstock from the bouquet in his hands.

“They’re beautiful,” he calls out, eyes on the moss terrariums. Severus stands, debating on walking around his small counter. He stays while Harry continues closer. “The note says all the flowers mean gratitude.” Harry finally looks at him, and Severus nods.

There’s something in his face, his expression, that rocks Severus to his core. An incredible sadness that makes him ache. Severus feels incredibly drawn to Harry, so unlike himself, wanting to know more about Harry and his life.

“I only recognized the hydrangeas, and the lily. What were the others?” His voice seems small. Severus struggles to breath for a moment.

“Bluebell,” he starts, licking his lips. “Camelia, bell flower. And a gladiola for sincerity.” Harry nods, turning the card over and over in his hands. Neither offer up any more words. A strange silence falls around them and the flowers.

“Lily was my mother’s name,” Harry eventually says in a soft voice. Severus feels his gut clench. “Lilies mean gratitude?”

“Only yellow ones,” Severus explains. “White lilies mean--.” He stops, shakes his head. “Come here,” he says instead. Turning, Severus bends to a small bookcase he keeps under the counter, the perfect height for resting feet on when sitting on the tall stool. He searches for a moment before spotting the book.

He carefully slides it free of the shelf, and sets it on the counter. Harry steps closer, eyeing the faded font stating Victorian Flower Language: A Beginner's Dictionary. Severus quickly flips to the Ls, then finds the first page of lilies. He turns it, thrusting it towards Harry.

Wordlessly, Harry runs fingers over a drawing of a lily in the margins. He scans the text, turns the page, turns it back. 

“Whose notes are these?” he asks, fingers tracing the drawing again. Severus swallows, follows his fingers with his eyes.

“Mine.” He pauses. “I did the drawings as well.”

“They’re beautiful,” he murmurs, turning the page. “This book is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Severus finds himself speaking in low tones, matching Harry’s quiet tone. “My mother gave it to me, before she passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Severus shakes his head.

“It happened a long time ago.” Another silence falls between them, punctuated by the turning of pages. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” Harry shrugs.

“Is what else you wrote on the card true?” Severus drops his eyes to the embossed card, his own steady handwriting arching across it. Suddenly, he feels very nervous.

“Yes,” he states, after a while. Eyes still fixed on the card, Severus fears he’s blushing. “Is there a place you would like to go?”

“Er,” Harry shifts his feet. “If it's alright with you, I’d-- I’d prefer to stay in.” Severus nods, mind already skipping ahead.

“Fine,” he says, scrambling for a moment. “Is there a day? I’ll cook something for us.” Harry smiles, small and soft. Severus wants to protect it.

“How’s Thursday?” 

Severus nods again. “I’ll text you my address.”

-

A quick succession of events results in Severus nearly dropping dinner.

The doorbell rings, Heather trills and jumps onto the table in the entryway, pushing a number of things onto the floor. And to punctuate the sounds of objects falling to the floor, the land line begins ringing. Severus briefly closes his eyes. Then before anything else can go wrong, he carefully places the glass dish on the counter, turning the oven off.

Pulling open the door, he glares at Heather for just a moment. Harry stands on the other side, looking apprehensive.

“Is everything ok?” Exasperated, Severus nods, and gestures for Harry to come in. He deftly removes Heather from the table, and answers the phone.

“Severus?” He looks over his shoulder back at Harry, quietly steps into the living room. 

“Draco, what’s wrong?” There’s a pause, Severus just makes out breathing.

“Just, Father called.” Severus winces. He can almost hear Draco fidgeting.

“You’re welcome to come here this weekend, if you should like,” Severus says in a low voice. He steps further into the living room.

“I would.” Draco’s voice is so small. It makes Severus a mix of angry and terribly sad, something he has some to associate with the Malfoys.

“You are always welcome. You know that, Draco. I’m your godfather.” He hears a small sound from Draco, and Heather trilling in the entryway.

“I’ll see you Saturday morning?”

“I’ll see you Saturday. Would you like to go out for breakfast?” A small laugh floats into the living room, Severus glances back.

“Yes. Good night.” 

Severus bids him good night. 

Hanging up the phone, he breathes in deep and runs a hand through his hair. He gazes out the glass sliding doors into his darkening yard. Orange and red and purple streak through the sky. He turns back to the entry way, dragging in another fortifying breath.

“I apologize.” Harry looks up from where he is trying to untie his shoes, but Heather is obstructing the act by rubbing herself all over Harry’s hands in a demand to be pet.

“It's alright,” he says with a grin. Severus feels his heavy heart begin to lighten. 

“Dinner is almost ready.” With a gesture, he leads Harry to living room. “Would you like water? I also have beer and wine.” Harry’s eyes twinkle as his smile widens.

“Water is fine.” Severus nods, offering a bottle. He turns to the stove, trying to remember what he was doing.

With a realization, he quickly turns the chicken, then spoons the glaze in the pan over it all. Pulling a pan from the rack, Severus drops asparagus he partially steamed earlier, and raw spinach into it. He turns on the burner beneath, adding a few spoonfuls of the chicken glaze to it.

“I hope you don’t have any food allergies,” he advises, stirring the spinach and greens mix to allow it to evenly wilt. 

Harry snorts. “Nope, not any that I know of.” Severus checks the chicken one last time, finding it cooked thoroughly. 

“Please bring me the plates,” he asks, gesturing to the place settings he’d arranged earlier. “Thank you,” Severus adds, pointing to the empty counter space to his right. Carefully, he arranges the chicken, asparagus and wilted spinach on the plate. Finally, he generously spoons roasted diced potatoes into the dishes.

Before Harry can get in the way, Severus quickly grabs the plates and deposits them on his small dining table. He points to the seat closest to where Harry sat down his bottle. Harry rolls his eyes, but sits.

“What is it?” he asks, smelling and settling into his chair.

“Chicken scaloppine, with an asparagus and spinach salad. The potatoes are oven roasted with garlic and olive oil. Enjoy,” he says primly, pouring a small amount of Chardonnay into two stemmed goblets. Harry flashes a smile in thanks, spearing a potato and promptly shoving it into his mouth.

“Oh god,” he groans, and Severus flushes. “This is amazing. Please give me the recipe. I need to eat these everyday for the rest of my life.” Severus smiles, or tries to. He fears it comes out tight and uncomfortable, his attraction obvious.

He coughs, shifting his legs and bringing his wine in for a sip. He glances down at his plate, suddenly very nervous for his meal. Harry, however, seems completely unaware, cutting into his chicken. 

“What’s his name?” he asks, gesturing with his knife to Heather. She stoically sits in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Harry and Severus with large eyes. Severus narrows his eyes in return, knows what comes next.

“Her name’s Heather, and if you don’t watch her, she will steal your dinner in a second.” He quickly begins cutting into his own chicken, hoping that looking as if he’s eating will stop her. Harry smiles softly.

“You don’t seem the type to have a pet.” Severus snorts.

“I’m not. Draco made me take her. He found her in the streets.” Harry looks at him, surprised. “Draco is a good child. Just… difficult to get to know.”

“Like you,” Harry says in a low voice.

“I suppose.” They eat quietly for a moment. Heather loses interest and retreats to her kitty tree in the living room. “Solitude, and admiration.”

Harry chokes for a moment. “What?” he asks, around a mouthful of food.

“Heather, the flower, means solitude and admiration.” Harry stares for a moment.

“That’s… very fitting for a cat.” He almost seems surprised. Severus kind of likes that he keeps doing that, surprising Harry Potter. He looks down to his plate, a smile curling his lips.

Moments later, Harry sits back from his plate. “That was probably the best meal I’ve had in ages.” He sips at his wine. Severus smiles, taking a last bite of his own chicken.

“When you’ve finished, I’ll show you the house.”

“A true host,” Harry says, attempting to make his tones posh. Severus playfully sneers, and stands. With a grin, Harry downs the last few swallows of his wine.

“Kitchen, obviously, bathroom to your left from here,” Severus indicates with a gesture. “Entry way, through here is the living room.” He steps into the brightly lit room, Harry following closely. He ghosts a hand over Severus’s loveseat, stepping close to the cat tree to walk over to the glass doors. His proximity draws a meow from Heather, and Severus goes to pet her.

Harry presses in close to the glass, using his hands to cut the glare to look into the nearly dark yard. “Wow,” he whispers. Severus smiles happily to himself, scratching Heather beneath her chin.

“Through this hallway is Draco’s room,” Severus begins again, leading the way. “End of the hallway are the stairs. Upstairs is my bedroom, the linen closet, and another bathroom.” Harry turns around himself, taking in the dark hallway, peeking his head into Draco’s room.

“Does he stay here a lot?” 

Severus shrugs. “Sometimes, enough that I gave him the spare room.” He pauses, and considers. “Draco and his father don’t always agree. As his godfather, I--,” he cuts himself off. “When I told Narcissa I would be the godfather to her son, it was that I would offer him love and protection if her and Lucius could not offer it. That is why he has a room here.” Harry stops peering into Draco’s room. His gaze is intense, but warm on Severus.

“That’s really wonderful of you,” Harry offers. “My parents were in an accident when I was young.” He stops, chews his lips for a moment. “My aunt and her husband raised me.” 

“Were you happy?” The words leave Severus’s mouth before he realizes he had even thought them. He wants to snatch them back. “I’m sorry, that was--”

Harry laughs, almost curling into himself. It's a strange ugly laugh, appropriate for the dark hallway they’re standing in.

“Petunia hated me, Vernon hated me more. Even my cousin, Dudley, was terrible. The first best day of my life was when I left. Every day puts me further from them, and so every day is better than the last.” 

Severus hesitates, feeling as if he’s on the precipice of something.

“Did they ever hurt you?” 

Harry stops laughing.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice is harsh. Severus regrets his words, feels his face tighten. 

The moment breaks with a jingle as Heather leaps off her cat tree, then saunters into the hallway. She trills, weaving herself between Harry’s legs, then Severus’s, only to return to Harry’s. His face softens, and he stoops down to her, running hands quickly and roughly over her little body.

“So demanding,” Harry says in a babyish voice, and Severus can’t help but snort. He doesn’t think any human being has ever baby talked Heather. Harry deftly scoops her into his arms, and stands. She squirms, repositioning to body to allow for most efficient pets. Harry steps close, to allow for Severus to pet her as well. He scrubs a hand over her head, paying close attention to her favorite spot between her ears.

They stand like that for a long while, petting Heather. She glows beneath their combined attention.

When he looks up from Heather, he finds Harry close, eyes intent on him. He swallows, feels his lips part. Harry’s eyes drop to his mouth, and Severus leans in. Their breaths mingle for just a moment. Severus closes his eyes.

He feels dry lips on his own. Pushing in closer, he snakes a hand up, wrapping it around the back of Harry’s neck. He angles his head, experimentally swiping his tongue over Harry’s lips. Harry responds, opening his mouth, allowing Severus to deepen the kiss. They stand there for a while, a gentle push and pull of kisses. Harry holds his hip in a tight grip.

Heather lets out a disgruntled meow, squirming against their chests. They part, Harry hastily placing her on the floor. They contemplate each other for a moment, before Harry presses back into his space. He kisses Severus fiercely, hands framing his face, surprising Severus. He kisses back, trying to make the kisses less hurried and wraps arms around Harry’s waist.

“Do you-- want to…?” Harry asks, between kisses. Severus makes a noise that he hopes Harry will take as positive affirmation. They begin backing up towards the stairs and up them, parting for a moment to take a few steps, before one pulls the other in for a kiss.

The progress up the stairs is slow, but Severus honestly doesn’t care, enjoying the feel of Harry’s lips, and his hands. They finally make it to his room, panting. Severus flicks the light on, and they squint in the sudden brightness for a moment. Harry crowds into his space again, backing Severus into the wall and then pinning him there. Severus groans.

Harry grabs his wrist, pushing it against the wall. Severus tilts his head, leaning into a kiss. He feels Harry’s fingers slide along his wrist, up his palm, and twines their fingers together. He almost gasps, enjoying the simple intimacy of the kisses.

“Stop--please.” His voice is rough, breath coming in short pants. Harry stops, moving only millimeters away.

“What’s wrong?” His face is tight with anxiety. Severus nearly smiles.

“I’d prefer… What I mean is, will you stay with me? Just to sleep.” Harry seems to search his face, eyes bouncing around his features. Finally, he smooths a hand along Severus’s hair, running his fingers through the strands.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

-

As they settle into bed, Harry in borrowed sleep pants and facing each other, Severus allows himself to savour to moment. He breathes in deep, enjoying Harry’s fresh scent of soap and something he can’t place. Harry shifts, twining his fingers with Severus’, and kicking him in the shin.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, pressing his face into a pillow. When Severus doesn’t offer a verbal response, Harry shyly peeks up at him. 

“It’s alright,” Severus finally says in a low voice. He angles himself more towards Harry, watching as Harry rubs his thumb along the outer edge of his own. For a moment, he tries to remember the last time shared his bed with any living thing not Heather. He doesn’t pursue the thought, instead intrigued with himself asking Harry to stay. However, he’d dare to say it was a good decision.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Heather slinks into the room and jumps on the bed.

Raising his eyes, he’s surprised to see Harry inspecting his face. Severus is amazed by the green of Harry’s eyes, no longer hidden behind his glasses.

“I like your long hair,” Harry mutters, shoving his face into the pillow again. Surprised, Severus blinks and barks out a laugh. He spies Harry smiling, face mostly hidden by the pillow. Allowing himself to relax, Severus squeezes Harry’s hand and closes his eyes.

It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

-

Waking up, arms full of Harry is an experience Severus could never compare. Harry arches and shivers at the slightest touch. He responds vocally and physically, and Severus wonders at his receptivity.

He drags a hand along Harry’s back, eliciting a groan, Harry pushing into his hand.

“Good morning,” he murmurs into messy black hair. Harry turns, and without so much as opening an eye, juts his chin out. Severus is hopelessly charmed. He offers up the demanded kiss. “How do you like your eggs?”

Harry smiles sleepily, and curls himself around Severus.

-

With a kiss, Severus sends off Harry to head to his apartment and take a hasty shower. Severus had offered his own, but Harry had refused, saying he needed his notes from he'd left behind. Something about hiring more tattoo artists for the shop.Severus did however make French Toast. Which he can't remember doing since Draco won an arts award in high school.

He puts the last plate into the dishwasher. For a moment, he simply stands. His brain can't seem to absorb the current events of his quiet little life. He scrubs a hand over his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus spots his phone on the counter. His hand still rubbing at his stubble, Severus grabs the phone. 

The happy feeling, warm in his chest, disappears. Instead, it is replaced with a clench of guilt. He quickly reads through the texts from Draco. He doesn't listen to the two voice mails yet. Glancing at this microwave, Severus notes that Draco is in class. One of his studios, actually. He could call, but knows how much Draco hates being bothered while working. Instead he drafts a quick text.

Severus stares down at his phone. The screen goes dark, reflecting his frowning face back at himself. He feels an idiot, letting down Draco. He shakes his head, disappointed in himself.

Somewhere upstairs, Heather meows. 

\- 

Typing slowly on his phone, Severus vaguely hears the bell jingle as the door opens. He's most definitely not surprised when Harry walks in. Harry smiles, small and shy. It takes a lot of willpower on Severus’s part to not be hopelessly charmed by it. 

"Hi," Harry greets. 

"Hello." Severus watches as Harry comes closer. His eyes drift to Harry's lips. Harry puts his hands on the counter, the small smile still playing on his face.

“How’re you?” His voice is light.

“I’m well,” Severus responds. “And you?” Harry nods, then ducks his head. He peeks up at Severus through his eyelashes. Severus freezes. Before he’s gathered his wits again, Harry is surging forward, pressing dry lips against Severus’s. He presses back before he realizes what he’s doing. His hand bumps against his phone, reminding him of how he neglected Draco. Harry pulls away, still smiling shyly.

“I was wondering,” Harry starts. “I had a really great time last night.”

“I did as well,” Severus says slowly. Harry beams.

“So, I was thinking,” Severus’s eyes fall to Harry’s hands. He twirls a pen between deft fingers. “I know today’s Friday, but maybe we could do something this weekend. You don’t have to cook again we could go--”

“I can’t.” Severus feels his face tighten, anxiety making his gut clench. Harry freezes, eyes wide. He drops his gaze to his hands.

“Of course,” His voice is flat. “I mean, it isn’t like we’re--”

“It isn’t like that,” Severus hastens to say. He leans back on his stool, suddenly exhausted. “It's…,” He pauses, starts again. “It's Draco. He’s going through some things, and will be staying the weekend with me.”

Harry’s gaze snaps up, his eyes wide again. His mouth falls open to a soft “oh”. He nods, eyes on his hands again. "He's your top priority. I hope everything's alright." He offers a small smile.

Severus’s gut clenches again. "We could arrange something for Sunday." Harry pulls a face.

"Usually, I go to the Weasley's for lunch." Considering, Harry's eyes flick around Severus’s face. He does his best to keep his face neutral under Harry's inspection. "Maybe dinner? It'd be late, Molly always makes a huge lunch."

"That's fine," Severus advises.

"I'll text you?" Severus nods again, prompting another smile from Harry. "Brilliant." Rushing in again, he brushes his lips across Severus’s. When he withdraws, Severus feels flushed. Harry's gaze is intense but strangely soft as he continues to take in Severus’s face. It makes him flush more. He leans in again, hand brushing long strands of hair behind Severus’s ear. His breath catches as Severus is drawn into Harry’s space. For a moment their breaths mingle--

The phone begins insistently ringing. Harry laughs. He straightens, smiles though the disappointment is clear on his face. "I'll text you," he confirms, stepping back. The phone continues ringing as Harry backs out of the shop, walking backwards as if unwilling to break eye-contact. Usually, Severus would scold with a snide remark but finds he’d rather smile back.

Harry makes it to the door and, with a quick wave, steps out into the brisk spring afternoon. Severus finally answers the phone.

-

A crash of the door slamming open, quickly followed by another crash of something falling off the end table announces Draco’s arrival. The cacophony is punctuated by Heather greeting Darco with meows and trills. Severus sighs deep enough he feels it come from his toes. He wearily heaves himself to his feet to greet the boy.

Heather weaves herself between his legs and hands as Draco stoops in the entryway. The rucksack on his back shifts forward, and Severus steps forward, pushing it back before it can brain his godson.

Draco looks up, and grins. Severus rolls his eyes, and turns to inspect the things Draco must have knocked of the table when he dropped his overfull hamper next to it. Draco hums and begins conversing with Heather. His voice is low, and while Severus can make out the tone, he can’t make out any words.

Rather than linger, Severus grabs the over-full hamper and hauls it to the laundry room. He’s just finished setting the washing machine when he hears the fridge. In the kitchen, he watches Draco from the doorway.

Draco stands over the sink, shoveling cold roasted potatoes into his mouth. Severus sighs. He wrenches the tupperware from Draco’s hands, and with a raised eyebrow, directs him to sit. Draco sulks, dropping himself into one of the chairs carefully arranged at the table. Severus stares hard at him for a moment, slowly shaking his head. He turns his back, pulling a pan from the cupboard.

He carefully pours the remaining potatoes into the pan, kicking on the burner beneath it. Once the few potatoes are fully reheated with a fine crisp, he dumps them onto a plate, and places it before Draco. Draco looks up, smiling sheepishly before tucking into the plate. Severus slowly shakes his head again. 

Severus turns to the fridge, inspecting the contents. Spotting the leftover wine from his dinner with Harry, he shrugs and pours the remainder into two stemmed glasses.He plunks one of the glasses in front of Draco. The action prompts a frown from Draco, and he looks up at Severus, eyebrows furrowed. Severus shrugs, and drops into a seat himself.

“It was getting old,” is all he offers. 

“You’ve never let me drink before.” Instead of responding, Severus stares into his living room. He frowns at the sterile setting, chairs perfectly set, low table adorned with an empty vase. The only sign of life in the room is the tall cat tree in the corner, situated close to the glass doors for optimal bird viewing for Heather. He tries hard not to think about a small apartment, clean and organized, but cluttered and obviously lived in. He feels hollow in his chest. A part of him knows it’s been there a long time, and that there’s a certain tattoo artist responsible for making him aware of it.

Heather then makes her presence known, meowing loudly and twining herself between Severus’s and then Draco’s legs. Draco smiles down at the gray cat. Severus is struck by how tired he looks.

“What’re the plans for tomorrow?” Draco asks, taking a sip of wine as he runs a hand over Heather’s spine.

“Breakfast at the dinner,” Severus says slowly. “Then whatever you’d like.” Draco nods, frowning slightly. They don’t speak, Draco’s empty plate abandoned as he lavishes the cat with even more attention. The silence is filled with purring, trills, and the jingling of the bell on Heather’s collar.

“Are you lonely?” Draco asks suddenly. His tone is serious, but Severus can’t get get a good read on him, between the set of his shoulders and the way Draco keeps his gaze averted. All Severus knows is that he’s nervous. Severus considers, swirling the last bit of his wine.

“No,” he says resolutely. “I have you, and the flower shop.” Draco tilts his head, watching Heather as she bodily flops onto the floor.

“And Heather.”

“You, the shop and Heather,” Severus repeats. Draco nods, but something tells Severus he isn’t content.

Instead of pursuing the subject, Draco finally looks at him, flashing a dazzling smile for just a moment. “Does ‘whatever I’d like’ mean I can make you go to the movies?”

Severus resists groaning.

-

Sunday evening, finally. Severus relaxes in his favorite high-backed chair, a book open in his lap but unread. His attention is on the clock above the mantel to his faux fireplace. He frowns at the time, then checks his phone again.

Still no text from Harry.

He sighs, rolling his head back. Then chastising himself, he hefts his book up, determined to make use of his quiet evening. As he valiantly tries to read, his eyes drift to Heather, curled into a perfect ball in the little hutch of her cat tree. Severus frowns, watching her furry side rise and fall peacefully.

His phone trills, and he snatches up. He sighs, reads the text from Draco.

“Arrived safely!” Severus allows himself a small smile as he responds. 

“Good. Get some sleep.”

Slumping back into the chair, Severus closes his eyes, his arms dangling down the sides. He breathes in deeply, still holding his phone.

He frowns, eyebrows wrinkling. He tries to not be terribly disappointed.

-

The dreary Monday does nothing for Severus’s mood. Heather had been insatiable, knocking over everything she could, meowing loudly, refusing her soft food. Again, Severus uselessly tries to remove the gray cat hair from his slacks. He sighs in defeat, and slumps against the counter.

Despite the busy season, the day is quiet. The phone stands silently in its charging cradle, and Severus welcomes the slow day to clean the chaos that has become his workstation and fridges. He glances around his shop, littered with petals and dead leaves, dusty surfaces. He can’t wait to restore his shop to its usual cleanliness.

However, Severus finds his mind drifting to his neighbor. He refuses to check his phone, instead choosing to turn on the radio. The store fills with soft classical music. 

When the afternoon rolls around, Severus’s shoulders are tight, tension running through his body. His frown feels permanently etched into his face. His resolve breaks. During his normal lunch break, he quickly walks to the cafe for two coffees, then meaningfully strides to the terrible tattoo shop.

Stepping in, the lobby area is empty. Severus stares wonderingly at the counter, surprised by Hermione’s absence. He turns slowly, and begins wondering if the shop is truly deserted when he suddenly hears--

“Don’t be dense, mate!” Severus frowns. The voice comes from the back of the shop, obviously angry. 

“How am I being dense?” a second voice retorts, almost snarling. Severus casts his eyes about the parlor, trying to place the owners of the voices.

“Oh, you just think he’s interested in you? That he isn’t just using you?” There’s a silence, Severus can almost feel resentment seeping from the two speakers.

“What are you implying?”

“I don’t know why you like him, mate. He doesn’t want you.” The voice pauses. “You deserve better, someone younger. Not some stuffy bloke who arranges flowers.” 

Severus flushes, finally placing the first voice. He feels his face contort into an ugly sneer. He turns away, ready to leave.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ron.” Harry’s voice is soft, and Severus barely hears it over the chime of the door. Hermione cheerfully steps in, arms full of catalogs and a tablet. She freezes when she spots Severus.

“You’re being an idiot!” Ron nearly roars. “He’s some greasy git, miserable and lonely! Is that what you really want? Some fucker who hates tattoos, your friends and business? Why can’t you date that nice bloke Ginny introduced you to yesterday? Mum likes him.”

Hermione opens her mouth, face pale. Severus shakes his head, and places the second cup of coffee on the counter. He strides for the door, stepping around Hermione.

“Because you know so well!” Harry shouts back.

“Because you deserve to be happy, not with some--!”

The door slams closed behind him, cutting off all traces of the argument. He inhales, striding to his flower shop. With steady hands, he unlocks the door and steps into the quiet. It's surprisingly dark, the overcast sky threatening with rain. The phone rings merrily, and he hastens to answer it.

Severus gladly takes the emergency delivery order, allowing him to close the shop early.

-

Severus spends the next week disgustingly busy, but he basks in the rush. His early mornings, hectic afternoon and evenings results in early nights. It leaves very little room to dwell on the scene in the--

He shakes his head, refusing to allow himself to even think of it. Instead, he carefully trims a number of gladioli. As he places them in their ceramic vase, he turns to his newest stock of daisies, all dyed magnificent colors. He adjusts the flowers, assuring the least amount of strain. Parting the leaves, he inspects the small vials filled with dyed water.

Draco would like these, Severus thinks to himself. Or abhor them. He checks his phone, thumbing open the messages from Draco. He taps on the latest message from Draco, opening the picture message. Again, Severus wonderingly stares at the rough drawing of Narcissus, Draco’s mother. Her face, adorned with her usual calm and cool expression, is wreathed by flowers of her namesake, hepatica, and dahlia. [8]

He’s still looking at the photo when the door opens with a cheery jingle. Severus quickly locks his phone, setting it on the counter. He looks up to the greet the customer and instead feel his chest constrict painfully.

Harry stands just inside the door, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his tight jeans.

Severus carefully forces his face into his favorite expression, a perfect mix of bored and disdainful, with a dash remoteness. Harry’s gaze is nervous, flitting around the flowers to Severus’s face, and then away before it can settle. He slowly steps forward. Severus stays resolutely on his stool.

“Hi,” Harry offers, once he’s within 10 meters. He plants his feet.

“Good afternoon,” Severus replies, voice cool. “May I help you? Do you perhaps need a bouquet for an event?” Harry’s gaze snaps to him. Anger, then sadness flit across his face before he struggles to school it into a composed mask.

“I was here to apologize--,”

“Whatever for?” Severus says, words clipped. He turns, flipping through his appointment book. He has a number of pick-ups scheduled for this afternoon. Turning further, he eyes the fridges, counting the bouquets. He still has a few to arrange. 

“Hermione told me that you--.” Severus stands, moves to the fridges. He calmly turns the bouquets, checking for damaged blooms or unsightly wilting. “What I mean to say is--.” Again, Severus stalks away, turning his attention to a small azalea bush. 

Harry hastens after him, opening his mouth to start again.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Severus nearly snarls. He knows how ugly he sounds and looks right now, lips twisted, hooked nose, long hair messily pulled back. He looks down at his hands for a moment, trimmed nails with lines of dirt beneath them, calloused and rough. His sleeves are pushed up, the bottom of a hideous reminder, a tattoo, peeking out beneath the bunched hem. “Every word your friend spoke was true.”

“But--,” Harry tries to start again.

“Leave.” He does snarl this time. Severus knows who he is. His life is Draco, the shop, Heather. Not some young man with bright eyes behind ugly round glasses and a charming smile. Not a tattoo parlor, loud and full. He doesn’t turn, regardless of the sound of shuffled feet, a sigh.

Finally, he hears the door open and close. He stands, eyes focused on nothing in particular. He frowns.

Then, Severus hauls in a deep and shuddering breath. He can’t afford himself these feelings, and begins to scold himself. He still has orders to fill.

-

With arms scratched and irritated, Severus slides open the glass door of his living room. He carefully toes off his shoes. Leaving the shoes on the patio, Severus steps in, toes sinking into the plush and cream colored carpet. Heather perches on the cat tree, eyes trained on something in the garden. Her tail lashes in agitation as she chatters. Severus follows her gaze, spots the small bird pecking at a tuft of grass. Before stepping away, Severus firmly shuts the door. 

If there is one thing Severus doesn’t have the energy for today, it is Heather getting outside and attempting to catch a bird.

He trudges to the kitchen, and vigorously washes his hands and arms, attempting to scour off all pollen and dirt. The hedges he trimmed were in worse shape than he thought when he started. Though Severus had bullied them back into their original shape.

He’s taking a long drink of orange juice, leaned up against the counter, when the phone starts ringing. Severus eyes it, glass of orange juice slowly chilling his hand. Leaning towards it, he reads the caller ID and snatches up the phone.

“Draco,” he greets. The only response is a laugh, bright and loud. It makes Severus happy. Draco seems to rarely laugh anymore. Severus tries his best not to blame Lucius. “How are you?”

Draco quickly fills his ear with benign chatter. He talks first about his critique yesterday, presenting the unfinished painting of his mother that was supposed to be completed by now. He replays to Severus every word of praise, and every word of criticism from the professor. When Severus asks what his peers said, Draco scoffs and advises they know nothing so their opinions are nothing. 

Severus purses his lips, but says nothing. He’ll need to have a talk with Draco, maybe make him see this is why he doesn’t have many friends in the department. Though, Severus is terribly aware that Draco has learned the behavior from him.

Draco continues, babbling about his other classes and his part-time job. As he chatters, Severus pours himself another glass of orange juice and meanders to his living room. He slowly lowers his tired self into his favorite chair, glass of juice balanced on the arm. With hums and quiet affirmations, Severus listens, happy to be a part of Draco’s life.

After a long while, Draco’s voice stutters to a halt. Severus hums in response.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, drawing a frown from Severus.

“What ever for?”

“I just---,” Severus hears him drag in a breath. “Can I ask a question?”

“Yes, Draco,” Severus replies, voice soft. Draco pauses, hesitant. An image of him frowning fiercely, eyes trained on his feet, fills Severus’s mind.

“You do know you’re allowed to have other people in your life?” A pause. “To date?” Severus gazes into his garden, weeded and hedges newly trimmed. He diverts his attention to the cat tree, Heather proudly perched on the highest platform, eyes surveying the garden for any small creatures. He thinks of his flower shop, dark and quiet right now, but bright and busy tomorrow with pick-ups and customers.

“I do,” he says slowly, voice low. “My life is full, of you, the flower shop, of Heather. I have no want for anything else.” There’s a hurt, low in his chest, but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it.

Draco scoffs. “That’s a lie.” His tone is derisive, and for a moment, Severus is thrown for a loop. “That’s a lie,” he repeats, tone marginally kinder.

“And why would it be?” Draco pauses again, and Severus knows he’s chewing his lip as if to gather courage. He seems to weigh his options. Just as Severus is about to lose his patience waiting for him to speak, Draco starts.

“Because, sometimes…,” he says, haltingly. “Sometimes you get this look on your face, and you get real quiet. And I wonder how much you talk when I’m not there. And I think about how lonely you must be, just you and Heather and all those flowers….”

Severus’s breath is stolen away for just a moment. The thoughtfulness in this boy, so selfish and spoiled. This boy who grew up never thinking of another because everyone thought of him first. Severus supposes it was only a matter of time he’d have to change, and that college, or art, could do that for him.

“I like the quiet,” Severus whispers, as if unwilling to break the moment. “I have everything I need.”

“No,” Draco says, sadly. “You don’t, though.”

“Not every person needs a romantic relationship in their lives,” Severus scolds. Draco murmurs something, but Severus can tell from the tone he’s agreeing. He crosses his arms, the phone crooked between cheek and shoulder.

“I just want you to be happy,” Draco says, voice small. Severus suddenly feels guilty. “I don’t want you to be lonely. And, if you decide to date someone, I won’t be cross or jealous at all.” Severus smiles softly to himself, uncrossing his arms. He switched the phone to his other ear.

“Not even a little bit?” 

Draco laughs, and it sounds a little watery. “Maybe a little. I might have to threaten them a little, if they aren’t completely acceptable.”

“And who would be acceptable, Draco?” 

He hums for a moment, thinking of a perfect answer. “An artist, or someone who likes flowers. Someone younger than you.” Draco’s tone edges on cunning and it makes Severus narrow his eyes. He pauses to think a moment longer. “As long as they make you happy, they’re acceptable.”

Severus throws his head back, against the high cushioned back of the chair. His living room glows, filled with late afternoon sun. He’s always loved this room most. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on his breathing, imagines the thud of his heart. Imagines Draco can hear it through the phone.

“What if,” he starts, then pauses. Licks his lips. Starts again. “What if I had someone I was interested in already?”

“Then I’d ask when I can meet this person.” 

Severus smiles. “You already know him.” 

“Who is it?” Draco asks, obviously suspicious. It takes a lot of willpower for Severus to not laugh. “Oh my god.” Severus does laugh now. “Potter?!”

Severus pulls the phone away from his ear, Draco’s yell crackling and tinny. He continues to yell his disbelief.

“He’s interesting,” Severus offers once Draco quiets.

“Well, for one, my plan is now much easier. And two,” he says, disgust dripping from his voice. “I don’t want any details.”

“I wasn’t going to anyways,” Severus chides. Draco mumbles something. “What was that?”

“I said,” Draco over-pronounces, “That it makes sense that you like him.” With narrowed eyes, Severus waits, pointedly allowing a silence to fall between them. Over the line, he hears shifting. “Well, he’s dedicated to the things he cares about, and loyal to his friends,” Draco advises, speaking slowly. “He’s always trying his best. And he encourages others to do better.”

Severus suddenly feel very tired. Heaving his tired self out of his chair, he shuffles over to the couch and promptly lies down. “Alright,” he says, throwing an arm over his forehead. He stretches out his right leg, dropping his left over the edge and planting his left foot firmly on the ground.

“Those are things you’ve always told me were important traits.”

Severus bristles. “Look, Draco, just because I say they’re important traits, doesn’t mean I seek them out in a--”

“He still comes to talk with the professors at least once a week, really early in the mornings. Sometimes, he even sits in on critiques.” Severus frowns, annoyed at being interrupted. However, he doesn’t interject yet, interested in the new information Draco is offering. “We look at his paintings mostly. This week, he…,” Draco pauses. “He said my painting of Mother is amazing and he likes my use of flower language. The he told me she’s beautiful.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Severus recalls Harry’s face as he traced delicate fingers over the lily drawing from the flower language dictionary. “His mother--,” Severus starts.

“He’s an orphan,” Draco quickly cuts in. Again, Severus frowns at being interrupted. Draco quickly forges on before Severus can say anything. “It came up in class a few times. We actually talked when he was here last. It was… nice? We’ve never really talked before.”

Severus scowls into the following silence. Draco hums happily to himself for a moment. “Is that so?” Severus finally asks.

“Why, yes!” Draco exclaims, voice merry. “We talked about you a bit, actually.” At the mention, Severus sits up. “He said I was lucky to have you in my life, and like.. that’s it’s good I have someone supportive who I can count on. And some other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“Just stuff,” Draco dismisses. “It really isn’t fair to share. Though I did tell him off for you.”

“You told him off?” Severus is aware that his tone is both amazed and skeptical.

“Weasley was unfair to you, and very rude. He should be more respectful, both to you and his friend. Regardless of if he approves of their choices.”

Suddenly, Severus is incredibly proud of Draco. “What else did you talk about?”

“Just some stuff.” Severus rolls his eyes at Draco’s false nonchalance. “Some projects he’s working on, we talked about the flower portrait I want to do of Father. Hey, do you think we could go to the nursery in a few weekends? I’d like to pick up some flowers to do studies of, instead of working from photos.”

“Of course, just tell me when.” Severus shifts into a proper sitting position. He relaxes into the couch. “Exactly what else did you two discuss?”

With a laugh, Draco happily changes the subject. Doggedly, Severus pursues details of the conversation. Draco stubbornly refuses to relinquish any to Severus, continually changing the subject. Eventually, Severus gives it up, instead listening to Draco excitedly talk about the show a local gallery has requested his work for.

-

Severus Snape is a man with a plan.

Or well, he’s a man standing in nothing but his pants in the bathroom. Either way, he has a plan. Though, he stares at himself in the mirror and second guesses the plan for the umpteenth time. Gathering his frayed wits about himself, Severus shakes the uncertainty from his mind.

“I am Severus Snape, a florist, a 32 year old man,” he states firmly to his reflection. “There is zero reason for me to be nervous.” With a resolute nod, he grabs the brush and begins forcefully running it through his damp hair.

On his final sweep, he considers his hair in the mirror. Severus sucks his bottom lip in, then pushes his hand through his hair. For a moment, it stays swept back. But it soon falls back to obscure his face. It's these moments that Severus wishes he kept his hair short. He quickly recants the wish though, remembering terrible bowl cuts and the unfortunate mullet he sported for years.

Instead, Severus efficiently pulls his hair in a low pony tail. He tucks the loose strands around his face behind his ears. Satisfied, Severus pulls on the trousers he carefully laid out on the counter before his shower. He starts to pull on his shirt, but pauses. 

He inspects his reflection, takes in pale skin, slightly tanned arms, a flat but rather soft stomach. His face is tired, a frown more at home than any other expression. Experimentally, Severus smiles. It looks forced and nervous, eliciting a snort.

Somewhere downstairs, Heather begins meowing.

Shaking his head, Severus finally pulls on his shirt, a soft long sleeved thing Draco got him for Christmas a few years back. He likes the dark hunter green, the buttons at the collar. After carefully rolling up the sleeves of the Henley, Severus runs hands over his chest, smoothing down the fabric. 

As he checks the length of the sleeves, insuring the mark on his left forearm is properly covered, Severus smiles to himself. Draco’s laughter as he proposed his plan to confront Harry only encouraged him. Of course, Draco was all too familiar with Severus’ tendency for devising plans and schedules.

With a quick glance, Severus catches sight of himself. An easy grin plays on his face. He’s so shocked, it falls right off, forcing a frown in its place. He glances down, uncertain.

Downstairs, Heather begins meowing more insistently. Severus huffs a single laugh, and pads out of the bathroom.

He has a plan, and a cat to feed.

-

The park is surprisingly full. Full of children and their families, dogs, ducks, squirrels, and flowers. Severus takes in the multitude of people, surprised at the number considering it’s a Thursday in the middle of the day. Though, he supposes the children look quite young and the brisk spring weather has drawn many from their homes.

He enjoys the short walk, following a path around the park, sometimes ducking below low hanging branches. A few times, he stops and inspects the flowers. They seem well cared for, with very few weeds about. It makes him happy.

Eventually, he spots a person with incredibly messy hair sitting at a bench, bowed over a sketch book. Hesitating for a moment, Severus makes his way to the bench. He sits heavily, causing Harry look up, annoyance plain on his face. Harry stares at him, annoyance slipping away and replaced by surprise. But Severus inspects Harry’s view instead of meeting his gaze.

He takes in joggers, elderly power walkers, and a man playing fetch with his incredibly large and fluffy dog. Children run and scream, climbing the jungle gym, the ladders to tall and twisty slides. The playground equipment is brightly colored, tall slides connected by bridges and tunnels. One child catches Severus’ eye, aggressively steering at a play steering wheel, pushing away any child who tries to join her. It draws a smile out of him.

“Hermione told me you’d be here,” he eventually says. Harry shrugs, bowed over his sketch book again. Severus furtively peeks at Harry as he draws. Quick pencil strokes roughly create forms and action. The page is full of children in all states of motion, joggers parsed throughout. “She said you come here often.”

Severus looks away again, watching the man playing fetch with his large dog. The conversation with Hermione had been terrible. With great effort, he imagines he’ll be able to wipe the embarrassment from his memory. Though, Severus will admit, having a young woman indignantly angry on one’s behalf was strangely encouraging. Encouraging enough the Severus had decided to meet Harry at the park, instead of waiting for him to return.

“The tulips here are lovely. Tulips are a frightfully hearty flower. They only bloom for a couple weeks, naturally, but once you plant them, they’ll come back every year,” Severus chatters. “They have beautiful meanings. I order a good number of my own tulips from Holland, when I get the chance. They always send photos of the fields. I think I would rather like to go and see them in person.”

Turning his head, Severus watches as the man with the dog over shoots his throw. The mangled tennis ball bounces towards their bench. Severus stands to retrieve it, and throws it back. The man catches it. Just as he’s sitting, the man raises his hand in a wave. Severus waves back, lifting his left hand. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus notices Harry’s gaze drawn to his left arm. His left sleeve had ridden up, showing just the very bottom of the ugly black and mottled tattoo. The edge of a snake, the bottom jawbone of a skull. He drops his arm, resting his hands in his lap.

It takes a lot of willpower to not pull the sleeve down, to not hide his shame.

“Draco tells me you two finally came to an understanding.”

Harry snorts. “I’m not sure you can call it an understanding. It’s more of that we spoke for real, finally. Instead of yelling at each other from opposite ends of a classroom.” Severus smiles at the thought, knowing Draco’s tendency for dramatics.

“He wouldn’t tell me what you two spoke about.” Severus shifts, watching a woman jog by with a stroller.

“His mom, his current work. Which is amazing, by the way.”

Severus grins. “I know. He’s been sending me pictures every day. Sometimes multiple times a day.”

Harry laughs. “He mentioned something about more portraits. We talked about the benefit of a series, versus his idea of a triptych.” He glances at Severus. “Which I’m all for the triptych. And then you came up.”

Severus purses his lips. His curiosity gets the better of him. “And?”

“Well,” Harry draws out the word, tilting his head. “There was a lot of talk about the conversation between Ron and myself. To quote, ‘of course, he was upset and lashed out, your friend was horrid to him.’” Harry pauses. “I very much agree. And then he told me he would fix it.” Severus frowns. “Hah, I thought the same thing!”

Severus sighs, looking from Harry, his sketch book, and the park. “He’s strange, that one.”

Harry quickly roughs a flower, though Severus can’t place it yet. “I can imagine his face, you calling him strange.”

Severus laughs. “Oh, I’m sure. You’ve seen a lot of his displeased faces.”

Harry grins. Now, Severus can place the flower as a single rhododendron. It makes him frown, the meaning of the flower paired with their situation. He hates the odd limbo they have created for themselves, somewhere between becoming friends and something else. It’d be so easy to walk away from this moment, never speak again. Only to offer a polite nod to a neighbor if they happen to pass.

“Do you know what they mean?” he asks, unwilling to allow his prediction to become truth. “Rhododendrons?”

“Not really,” Harry murmurs, filling in more details of the petals. His pencil quickly moves, adding another bloom next to the first. “They’re pretty, so I draw them sometimes.”

“They say, ‘I am dangerous, beware.’ They say be careful and stay back.”

“Strange, for such a pretty thing.” His voice is still low. “What do hydrangeas mean?”

Severus cocks his head, confused at the sudden inquiry. “Heartlessness, indifference. Strangely, they can also be used in thanks for understanding.”

For some reason, this makes Harry scowl. “I think if she knew that, she wouldn’t keep them.”

“If who knew that?” Severus brow furrows in confusion, voice low.

“Aunt Petunia. She keeps hydrangeas. She keeps a number of flowers.” Harry scowls fiercely, adding another bloom to his sketch. “I used to keep the flowers. She made me tend the garden.”

“Petunia?” Harry nods, in response. Severus furrows his brow further, racking his brain. “I believe petunias are given to one whose presence you find calming.”

Harry laughs, loud and bitter, throwing back his head. “That’s nothing like her.” He begins roughing in another bloom. With a mighty sigh, he abandons the flowers and instead turns to a fresh page. “How did you learn flower language?”

The obvious, and yet sudden, subject change throws Severus for a moment. “My mother.” He swallows. If he’s going to show Harry he’s interested, he might as well start now. Pursing his lips, Severus inspects his hands. “She taught me, because our family is old and these things are important. She was always telling me how important everything was. Every thought, every action, every intent. Every move and word was carefully planned and prepared.”

Severus looks up from his hands, and notices Harry watching him intently. He smiles, feeling small and sad. “My father left us when I was young. Still don’t know why. Don’t know if he tired of us, if there was another woman, if he found the fatherly life wasn’t fit for him.” Severus shrugs. “It didn’t matter. Mother was the talk of the community, a single woman raising her only heir by herself.” He pauses, feeling the smile fall from his face. “She was kind. Always did her best, always thinking of me and my future. She taught me about flowers.”

“She sounds amazing,” Harry offers.

“Thank you. She was, it took me years to realize that she was.” Severus winces, hating this part of his story the most. He continues regardless, gut burning with shame. “But, I got involved with some bad people, and did some terrible things. I got away from it, but then she was ill. She passed quickly. And so I opened the flower shop, and decided I’d make arrangements the way she taught me. The way she told me flowers were meant to be.”

Harry doesn’t respond. A silence stretches between them, filled only with the shouting and laughter of children, the sound of birds and a gentle breeze ruffling leaves. Severus closes his eyes, soaking in the beauty of this place.

“You’re amazing.” Harry’s voice startles Severus. His eyes fly open, and he looks to the other man in confusion.

“What?”

“You’re amazing, but I already knew that before you told me all of that.” He pauses. “Thank you for sharing. It means a lot. You must miss her a lot.”

Severus blinks, thoroughly thrown by Harry’s blunt praise. He supposes this is what Draco meant in the critiques. “I miss her everyday, it never goes away.” Harry nods, agreeing. “But… but every day I send an order away with a customer, or tell a story of a bride and her groom in flowers, she feels closer.”

Harry is silent, his gaze focused away from Severus and his sketch book. Severus surprises himself by offering his right hand, placing it close to Harry’s, but not quite touching. After a long minute, Harry looks back at him. His face is rife with hurt and sadness. He glances between his sketchbook, Severus, his eyes finally resting on Severus’ hand. 

Severus holds his breath for just a moment while Harry considers his hand. He’s just starting to feel a fool, pulling his hand back when Harry grabs it in his own. Harry carefully laces their fingers together.

For another long minute, they sit. Not speaking, just holding hands. They both gaze out into the park.

When Severus looks back to Harry, he finds him gazing into his lap at the blank sketchbook. He wears the same sadness Severus saw once, when Harry had come and asked about the meaning of lilies. Severus considers squeezing the hand in his own, to show support, sympathy, anything. Instead, he takes in their hands laced together and Harry’ profile.

The weight of his gaze draws Harry’s attention to him for just a moment. Harry rolls his lips in, then drops his eyes. Slowly, he turns to gaze out at the wide green playing fields. Severus closes his eyes, breathing out slowly, savoring the cool breeze and laughter around them. He stays like that for what feels like a century, slowly breathing in and out, his world reduced their hands and the noises around them.

When he opens his eyes, Harry is looking at him again. He crooks an eyebrow, asking a silent question.

“Are you lonely?”

The question throws Severus. Suddenly, he’s reminded of his recent conversation with Draco. He suspects this is one of the things the two spoke about, one of the things Draco refused to share. It’s his turn to stare out at the park, taking in the plant life and groups of people. He watches as a precocious toddler climbs a ladder, intent on the tallest slide. The mother hovers below.

“A month ago, or even a week ago,” Severus starts, “I would have said no. Because I wasn’t lonely.” He keeps his eyes trained on the child, more than half-way up the ladder now. “I would have said no because I was completely content with my life as it was. I had everything I wanted.” Mustering whatever bravery he has, Severus turns to look at Harry. 

Harry gazes at him, unblinkingly. The intensity of it nearly intimidates Severus. “What is it you want?” 

Severus snorts inelegantly. It draws a smile out of Harry. “I’d feel that’s fairly obvious.”

Harry sighs, and shifts, uncrossing and crossing his legs. Their palms are sweaty against one another. It almost makes Severus want to pull his hand away, but he enjoys the feel of Harry’s hand in his own more.

“I’d like for you to say it.” Harry’s voice is soft, but the tone is unmistakable. Severus winces, dropping his gaze his lap. He pushes away his guilt for making Harry sound so sad and unsure of himself.

Severus gathers himself, all his bravery and determination. He stows away the part of him that is embarrassed and shameful. Figuring there’s really only one way to do this, Severus turns his body so that he is fully facing Harry. He pulls their hands into his lap. Chewing his bottom lip, and looks up at Harry’s face. With a final fortifying breath, he tries on a smile.

“I want you.” It comes out small, and nervous. Immediately, Severus knows he has cocked it up. He winces, shutting his eyes tight for a moment as his heart sinks. Breathing in deep through his nose, Severus keeps his eyes shut tight, until he feels his hand being squeezed.

Harry’s face is open, eyes wide. He squeezes Severus’ hand again as a small smile curls his lips.

“You’re incredibly brave, and you’ve been through so much,” Severus pauses, trying to sound as sincere as he feels. “You’re a wonderful friend.” He thinks back to the evening of the party at the tattoo parlor, the masses of red haired folks and a bushy haired young woman. “You’re kind and caring, offering words of support and suggestions. Draco seems to think you are too nice.”

Harry laughs. It's a low sound, sending a shiver through Severus.

“You’re incredibly dedicated. I can’t say I know very many business owners that are in their early twenties.” Harry winces at that.

“Actually, I turn 25 this year. I was held back a year in primary school.” Harry looks sheepish, eyes skating all over Severus’ face. The sudden confession surprises him, and warms him too. He takes the information as a sign of forgiveness.

Severus literally waves off the self-depreciation. He pulls their hands into his lap, unlacing their fingers so he can hold Harry’s hands with both of his own. He runs his fingertips over Harry’s knuckles.

“Your hands are calloused.”

“Yes,” Severus agrees. “I do work with my hands.”

“Isn’t it against the rules to have calloused hands if you’re from an old family? Something about manual labor being bad and lowly?” Severus nearly laughs.

“That might be correct, but I’m not exactly a part of that society anymore.” He rolls in his lips, running his hand along the pads of Harry’s hand, discreetly comparing the sizes of their hands.

“Do you ever miss it?”

Severus considers it for a moment, head tilting minutely. “No. I have my flower shop. And my grandson, plus an insufferable cat.” He glances up at Harry. Harry watches their hands, fingers twitching when Severus drags his fingers lightly over his palm. “I’d like for you to be a part of that world too.”

A smile, small at first but quickly growing, lights up Harry’s face. He looks up at Severus through his eyelashes. The smile twists into a smirk. “We might be able to work something out.”

-

Bone tired and weary in a way he can never remember being before, Severus sighs and melts into his mattress. He allows all his muscles to finally relax, shifting to his favorite position on his side in nothing but his pants.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it bedtime now?”

Severus groans in response, rolling onto his back.

Harry, also in nothing but his pants, props himself up on an elbow, and smiles down at him from his right. Severus wants to groan again, unable to understand how he can be so energetic still.

So he does groan again, going so far as to throw an arm over his face. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

Harry laughs. “It has been.” He flops down, jostling Severus. Out of the corner of an eye, Severus glares at him. Harry only smiles back, unapologetic. After a moment, Harry tucks himself into Severus’ side, resting his head on Severus’ chest.

Shocked for just a moment, Severus rearranges himself around Harry, amazed at how they fit together. Amazed at how just this afternoon, he was unsure there would ever be anything between them. He carefully smooths a hand over the back of Harry’s that rests on his belly. Harry sighs, breath warm on his chest.

As their breaths begin to slow, Severus continues to drag his fingers lightly up and down Harry’s forearm. He relaxes again, laying his arm flush along Harry’s. His eyes close.

“What does your tattoo mean?”

Severus’ eyes snap open and he feels himself tense all over. Immediately, Harry begins to sit up. Severus puts a quick end to that, wrapping his right arm tighter around Harry’s shoulders.

“Remember how I mentioned I did some bad things? Got involved with some bad people?” Severus struggles to keep his voice neutral and calm. Harry nods slowly. “Everyone involved got this mark, to show we are―were loyal to the group.”

“It wasn’t very well done,” Harry mumbles. Severus can’t help but smile into his hair. “The lines aren’t even, and most are blown-out.”

“It wasn’t done in a parlor,” Severus admits.

It’s Harry’s turn to tense up. He slowly shifts to look up in Severus’ face. “Explain.” The intensity of Harry’s stare puts Severus on edge.

“It's a gang tattoo,” Severus says gruffly, feeling defensive. “It was done at a member’s house. I was drunk. I believe it’s what one would call a ‘stick and poke’ tattoo.”

Harry sighs, and Severus would venture to say it was angrily. He burrows into Severus’ chest. “That was really stupid.” 

The statement makes Severus bristle. “I’ve never said it wasn’t a mistake.” His voice is bitter.

Sighing again, Harry relaxes. He reaches out, running a finger over the old ink. “I know,” he mutters. His tone, sad and low, has Severus relaxing as well. “It must be a terrible reminder.”

He rolls his lips in, considering Harry’s statement. “Every day.” He clears his throat. “I regret it every day.”

Harry nods. “You could always get a cover-up.”

“A cover-up?”

“A tattoo over this one.” He runs his fingers over it again. “It isn’t raised, and the lines are so faded, it’d be pretty easy. You’d just have to decide what you want.”

Severus stares down at the mark, the ugly skull that used to be stark black against his pale skin. The tattoo, now blueish and patchy, stares back at him, the smushed face of the snake wagging out of the skull’s mouth. Harry runs his fingers over it again.

“I don’t know what I would get.”

“You have time to think about it. I’ll help you find an artist if you’d like.” Harry shrugs, drawing his hand away from the tattoo, letting it rest on Severus’ belly again.

“You wouldn’t do it?”

Harry shrugs again. “Professionalism. I mean, I could. If you wanted me to?” His inflection makes it a question.

“I think we have some time to think about it,” Severus advises softly. Harry turns his face into Severus’ chest.

“Is this what Draco has been struggling with?”

Shocked, Severus stares down at Harry’s mop of hair. “Yes.” His tone reflects his surprise. Harry shifts. “Draco’s father still frequently participates in the group’s activities.”

Harry nods against his chest. “I can understand why you both don’t talk about it. It's a difficult situation.”

“Yes,” Severus agrees. He knows Harry understands. It can’t be taken lightly, can’t be spoken about with just anybody. How it is Draco’s solitary battle.

“Draco’s lucky to have you, so he isn’t alone.” Severus’ eyes widen. 

“Do you really think that?” He keeps his voice soft, hoping to not betray his shock and insecurity.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers. “Everyone in your life is lucky.”

“You’re in my life.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky,” Harry whispers still, smiling sleepily. His breathing becomes slow and deep, so Severus presses lips to his hair, deciding on sleep for both.

Before he manages to relax again, Harry shifts against him. Then again, and again. Severus is about to ask why he’s suddenly restless.

“Is it ok that I’m scared?” he says to the ceiling. “I mean, sacred of this, of how I feel. I get so nervous and jittery around you. What if it doesn’t work?”

“It’s rational to be scared. I’m scared as well.”

“Really?” Harry asks, voice barely a whisper. 

“Yes. And if it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work.” Severus considers something, and hooks his ankle around Harry’s. “But it wouldn’t be for not trying. I plan on making this work.”

A silence stretches between them, all too familiar to them now. Harry picks at his nails, the fidgeting betraying his nervousness.

“I want this work. I want you in my life,” Severus carefully iterates, laying a hand over Harry’s to stop the fretting. “If we both want this, we can make it work.”

Harry rolls in his lips, nodding slowly. Severus holds him tight. “Ok,” he finally acquiesces.

“Ok,” Severus confirms.

Settling back against him, Harry smooths a hand over Severus’ chest. The movement draws a shiver out of him. Harry smiles up at him, and Severus’ eyes are drawn to his lips. Harry must catch the change of attention, as his smiles widens. He pushes himself up until their lips meet. 

Severus feels it in his toes. He sighs into the chaste kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry again.

Harry flops back down, curling into Severus’ side once more. “It’s time for sleep. We’ve been trying to go to sleep for ages now.” 

“Good night, Harry.”

“Good night,” he mumbles, seemingly already mostly asleep once more.

Allowing himself to drift off again, Severus begins composing a bouquet in his mind. He thinks of white violets paired with variegated tulips, though he can’t decide which colors. Let’s be happy, I love your eyes. [9] Furrowing his brow, he ponders other additions to balance it all. He briefly considers a sprig of peach blossom, but he quickly nixes it. It needs something green, to pull it all together.

Severus’ eyes snap open as he realizes the perfect addition. A smile cracks open his face and he struggles to not laugh, for fear of disturbing Harry. He screws up his eyes, bringing his hand up to smother his mouth.

“What is it?” Harry mutters, shifting so his face isn’t pressed into Severus’ chest.

“Did you know,” Severus begins, schooling his voice even. “That grass, when used in a bouquet, can be a symbol of homosexual love?”

Harry slowly turns to look up at his face. “Are you kidding me?” Severus fights mightily against a smile, rolling his lips in.

Harry stares at him for a long moment. It seems to stretch on forever, before laughter bubbles out of him. He presses his face against Severus’ chest, trying to smother it.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes,” Severus agrees, laughing.

“So, so should I just, like, show up and dump some lawn clippings all over your porch?”

Severus snorts. “Please don’t. I was considering it in a bouquet.”

“Oh god, no,” Harry pleads, and Severus laughs.

“Maybe I’ll use pine instead.”

“What does pine mean?”

“Hope.”

“Ok, better,” Harry says with a nod.

“Or pity,” Severus laughs.

“Not better!” Harry sits up, disrupting Severus’ comfortable position. “There’s gotta be better stuff to put in a bouquet.”

“Most flowers have multiple meanings,” Severus begins explaining. “Usually, context clues tell you which meaning to use for that bouquet.”

Harry frowns down at Severus. “But why grass?” 

Severus can’t help but erupt with laughter.


	3. Flower Language

Larkspur - Levity, An Open Heart, Lightness, Birth flower for the month of July (Harry)  
Carnation (General) - Fascination, Devoted Love, Birth flower for the month of January (Severus)  
Lilies (Orange) - Hatred, dislike  
Tulip (General) - Perfect Lover, Fame, Flower Emblem of Holland  
Daffodil - Regard, Unrequited Love, Sunshine, Respect, The sun shines when I'm with you  
Sunflower (Dwarf) - Adoration  
Zinnia (Magenta) - Lasting Affection  
Heather - Admiration, Solitude  
Rose (Bridal) - Happiness  
Baby’s Breath - Innocence, Pure of Heart  
Fern Leaf - Magic, Fascination, Confidence, Shelter  
Buttercups - Childishness  
Peonies (White) - Shame  
Lily (General) - Majesty, Honor, Pure of Heart  
Lavender - Love, Devotion  
Lilacs (Purple) - First Emotions of Love  
Narcissus - Formality, Stay As Sweet As You Are  
Hepatica - Confidence  
Dahlia - Dignity and Elegance, Forever Thine  
Rhododendron - Danger, Beware, I am Dangerous  
Hydrangea - Thank you for understanding, frigidity, heartlessness  
Petunia - Your Presence Soothes Me  
Tulip (Red) -Believe me, Declaration of Love  
Tulip (Variegated) - Beautiful eyes  
Tulip (Yellow) - There's Sunshine In Your Smile  
Peach Blossom - I am your captive  
Grass - Homosexual Love  
Pine - Hope, Pity


	4. Epilogue (3 Months Later)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SMUT AHEAD  
> I was unsure if I wanted to include this, but then I was like “eh, fuck it, i wanna write it”. So here it is!

Draco picks incessantly at his fingers, his short nails fighting to gain purchase on the skin. Severus rolls his eyes, and lays a hand on his forearm.

“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Severus chides softly. He glances around the crowded gallery, again glowing with pride for his godson. People mill about, examining Draco’s triptych and the photographs of the other artist.

Dropping his hands to his side, Draco nods. But then he rolls his bottom lip in, and begins chewing it furiously.

“He’ll be here soon. He said he’d be late.”

“I know,” Draco snaps. Then he sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m just--”

“I understand,” Severus interrupts, tone soft again. “You have every right to be upset and nervou--”

“You’ve be talking to Granger again.” Draco grins, finally not fidgeting.

Severus sniffs, refusing to rise to the teasing. He had been talking to Hermione again. Her parents’ order of flowers for their vow renewal meant he had been spending time with Hermione as her parents couldn't always make it to the shop. Severus rather liked it. She was a pleasant young woman, and very intelligent, if not a little meddling and overly protective.

Before Severus can change the subject, Draco is drawn into a conversation with a patron. He smiles, opting to stand to the side, offering Draco silent support.

An hour slides by quickly, Draco answering questions and explaining his works. Severus shifts, his feet growing tired, when he spots a head of dark messy hair peeking in the doors. With a frown, he looks Harry over, noticing the dirty and taped Converse.

Though, Severus must admit, the fact that Harry wore his nicest jeans and a clean t-shirt means he must have changed after leaving the tattoo parlor for the day. So he’ll take it as a small victory.

He taps Draco on the shoulder, gesturing behind him. Draco smiles, and waves him off. Dropping his empty plastic cup into the trash, Severus makes his way over to Harry.

As soon as Severus is within arm’s length, Harry slides warm fingers around his wrist. Harry then trails his fingers down Severus’ wrist until their fingers are laced together. They stand like that for just a breath before Harry pulls their hands up to his lips, kissing Severus’ knuckles.

Severus feels his heart thud in his chest, and his breath stick in his chest. Harry smiles up at him from behind their hands. It takes every ounce of will that Severus possesses to not kiss Harry right then. _Oh god,_ Severus thinks, _I love hi--_

“How is he?” Harry asks, dropping their hands from his mouth, but keeping their fingers entwined. “Lucius hasn’t shown up yet?”

With a frown, Severus glances back at Draco. He’s talking another person, glancing frequently to the doors as if he expects Lucius to walk in at any second. The tension is obvious in his tight gestures.

“Not yet, I’d better--,”

“Of course,” Harry enthuses, and Severus frowns, unsure why everyone must interrupt him. “I’ll just…?” With a smile, Harry gestures around the gallery. Severus nods, dragging his thumb along Harry’s before releasing their hands. He takes a step back, when Harry grabs his wrist again.

He pushes the edge of Severus’ cuffed left sleeve up. Tenderly, he runs his thumb over the fresh tattoo. “It looks good.” Harry’s voice is soft, and he looks up at Severus.

Severus feels himself smile. “I had a pretty good tattoo artist. I’ll give you his information, if you’d like.”

Harry laughs, throwing his head back. “Sounds great. Write it down and give it to me once I finish walking the gallery.”

Severus watches Harry walk into the side room, the ghost of his touch still lingering on the just healing tattoo Harry had done. Finally, he turns back to Draco. Dismayed, Severus isn’t surprised to find Draco fidgeting and chewing his lip again.

“He still isn’t here,” Draco nearly whines, disheartened. Severus shoves away his anger, knowing it'll only hurt his godson.

“I know,” he says, voice pitched low. “How much longer is the gallery open?”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Draco unlocks the screen. “About an hour.”

“He might make it, yet.” Draco nods in response, though he doesn’t seem to believe it. Severus puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer comfort.

“It’s probably best he isn’t here,” Draco says in a low voice.

Severus feels anger bubbling in his chest, anger at Lucius and at himself. He opens his mouth, probably to say the utterly worst thing, when he feels a hand on his right wrist.

Harry smiles at them, completely unaware. “The paintings look amazing,” he chimes. “The colors on the portrait of Severus are really amazing.”

Severus feels himself flush, still self-conscious about the portrait. Harry shoots him a look, and he immediately knows Harry strategically stepped into their conversation.

“Thank you,” Draco mumbles.

For half an hour, Harry bickers with Draco about painting techniques. Severus would be annoyed, but he watches Draco slowly relax and argue animatedly. Again, his brain supplies, like a broken record, _Oh god, I love him._

As they near the closing time of the gallery, the crowds thin. Harry unleashes a mighty yawn. Sheepishly, he tries to cover it up.

“Why don’t you head back?” Severus offers. “You had a very busy day.”

Harry scowls. “I’d like to stay.”

“You don’t have to,” Draco butts in. “I’m going to leave soon.” Severus turns to him in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry look openly shocked.

“Are you sure?” Severus asks, slowly.

Draco scowls. “Yes.” His voice is forceful, as if trying to convince them as well as himself simultaneously.

“What if Harry heads home, and we stay and wait for another couple of minutes?” Severus looks to Harry, and he nods in agreement.

Chewing his bottom lip again, Draco looks between them. Finally, he locks his gaze on Severus. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he says gently.

“You need to come down to the shop soon!” Harry quickly adds. “I was serious about commissioning a couple paintings from you. It’ll help if you see the space.”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure my work will fit in a tattoo parlor?” Draco argues.

“Right, well, I’m the owner and Hermione agrees with me so I don’t care. Just come by and see the place.”

“Well, Granger is very smart.”

Severus snorts, endlessly amused. Harry smiles at him.

“I’d better go,” Harry starts, just as another patron begins pumping Draco for information. Draco waves him off.

“I’ll be right back,” Severus says quickly and Draco shakes his head at him.

In the parking lot, Harry wraps his hands around Severus’ wrist again. Severus is eternally grateful for the cool night air, as he feels his face heating again. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get over Harry’s casual and strangely possessive touches.

“I’ll wait up for you?” Harry offers.

“No,” Severus chides. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. If Lucius doesn’t show up….” Harry frowns at him. “Just don’t stay up too late.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m not a child.” And Severus snorts, but doesn’t point out the irony of his action and words. “Punch Lucius for me, if he shows.”

Severus laughs as Harry ducks into his car and pulls away.

-

Severus drops his keys onto the side table just inside his entry way. For a moment, he stands and waits for Heather to rush in for her normal welcoming ritual. When she doesn’t show, Severus frowns in confusion and toes off his shoes. He pads quietly through the hallway and peeks into the kitchen. Still not spotting her, he then turns to the living room, noticing the lights on.

There he finds her cuddled up next to a sleeping Harry on the couch. He lays curled on his side, an arm thrown over Heather, glasses still on. Severus smiles at them for a moment before stepping further into the room. Heather lazily opens her eyes and watches him as he comes near. He runs a hand over her head, and scratches her beneath the chin briefly.

She purrs, leaning her head into the touch. Severus looks at Harry, his face slack in sleep. He shifts minutely and leaning down, Severus runs a hand through his hair before pulling off his glasses. The movement must wake him.

When Severus turns back after placing the glasses on the side table, he finds Harry looking up at him. As always, he’s amazed at the bright green of Harry’s eyes, so often hidden behind the thick ugly frames.

“Hi,” Harry whispers, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Hi,” Severus whispers back. He leans down again, pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s mouth. Harry sighs into it, wrapping a hand around Severus’ supporting arm. When he pulls back, Harry leaves his eyes closed for just a moment before licking his lips and looking up at him.

“We should go to bed.” Severus smiles, and nods in agreement. Harry reaches up his arms, as if asking to be carried.

“I’m too old for that,” Severus says with a snort. Harry huffs, then sits up, dislodging Heather from his side. She jumps down, and instantly climbs onto her cat tree.

“Did Lucius ever show up? Please tell me you actually punched him.”

“He never did.” Severus tries to suppress his sneer. “Draco went out with the other artist and some of their mutual friends.”

Harry frowns, then sighs. “What a dick.”

“That,” Severus states primly, “is a massive understatement.” Harry laughs, lacing their hands together as he stands. Severus smiles at him, suddenly feeling incredibly lucky. _Oh god, I love him._

Harry leans into him, wrapping arms around his neck. Severus rests his hands on Harry’s hips, enjoying the feel of Harry’s body against his own.

Pushing his face into Severus’ neck, Harry kisses the skin there. “I missed you today,” he says as he cants his hips against Severus’.

Suddenly, Severus feels very warm. He pulls in a breath, trying to calm himself, still so unsure of himself and this part of their relationship. Harry pulls away from his neck, and smooths a hand down the back of his neck, letting fingers tangle in his hair. They kiss, slow and unhurriedly.

“Bedroom,” Severus mutters against Harry’s lips. He nods, agreeing and pushes Severus, still kissing him. Severus smiles. “I’m unsure I can kiss you and deliver us to the bedroom at the same time.”

Harry pulls away and frowns mightily at him. He opens his mouth, but Severus quickly cuts him off.

“We are not having sex on the couch again, or in the kitchen. Bedroom.” Harry huffs, and then quickly walks down the short hallway, leaving Severus in the living room. Severus hears him on the stairs, most likely purposely being loud.

With a smile, he follows. The moment he enters the bedroom, Harry is in his arms, pressing kisses against his mouth. He kisses back, and when Harry runs a tongue across his bottom lip, he sighs into it, opening his mouth to Harry.

Harry pulls him, walking them backwards to the bed. Severus pulls up the hem of Harry’s shirt, only stopping the kisses to pull the shirt the rest of the way off. “Better,” Harry praises, and Severus flushes. Harry’s fingers slowly work the buttons of his shirt.

When he reaches the bottom, he pushes the shirt from his shoulders, helping Severus pull his arms from the sleeves. He frowns at Severus’ undershirt. “Why do you wear so many clothes?”

Severus rolls in his lips in an attempt to smother his laugh. Instead, he pulls off the offending shirt, and tosses it to the corner where he had thrown Harry’s. Harry nods, pleased, and begins thoroughly kissing Severus again. Canting hips forward again, Harry smooths palms over his chest, pulling a gasp from Severus.

Harry unbuttons Severus’ slacks, then pushes them down his hips. They catch on his thighs. Frustrated, Harry ineffectually tries to push them down more.

“Help me,” he whines. Severus quickly kicks the slacks off, and across the room. He shifts, self-conscious in just his pants. Harry smiles at him, running hands along his sides. “Help me,” he repeats, unbuttoning his own trousers.

Severus drops to his knees before him, pulling down the tight denim. Harry gasps, and when Severus looks up to him, his eyes are wide. Severus suddenly realizes his face is very close to Harry’s cock.

He runs a hand over the front of Harry’s boxer briefs, feeling Harry begin to lengthen and grow. Self-conscious again, Severus looks up at Harry, still pressing his hand against Harry’s cock. Harry nods, then cups his cheek in a hand. Severus pulls the boxers down, revealing Harry half-hard. Experimentally, he licks just the tip.

Harry gasps, throwing his head back, and Severus watches, entranced. Severus licks again, feeling Harry harden further.

Finally, he takes Harry’s cock, fully hard now, into his mouth. Slowly, he bobs his head, tongue swirling around the head. He tastes precum in his mouth, and closes his eyes as he slowly works Harry with his mouth. He alternates between licks and sucking, savoring all of Harry’s sounds.

“Stop, Severus, don’t wanna-- don’t wanna yet,” Harry pants. Severus pulls off his mouth with an obscene pop.

“No?” he asks, leaning his head against Harry’s hip and looking up.

Harry is flushed from cheeks to chest. He shakes his head, pulling Severus up.

“No, I was just--,” Severus protests as Harry kisses him, licking into his mouth.

“I don’t care,” Harry pants, flopping onto the bed, and dragging Severus with him. Severus gasps, feeling Harry hard and pushing against his own hard cock. The friction just enough to spark with pleasure, but not enough to satisfy.

“Harry, I--,” Severus starts, but Harry cuts him off with a roll of his hips, making Severus gasp again.

For a moment, they both fumble with his pants, hands knocking into one another. Frustrated, Severus pushes Harry’s hands out of the way, and yanks the pants down. Harry laughs, falling back against the bed. He quickly shoves the boxers down his legs, and drops them to the floor.

Severus lowers himself back over Harry, feeling their hips slot back together. Harry sighs, throwing his head back. He rolls his hips again, and Severus shifts, pushing back, trying to get the best friction.

Pleasure sparks all along his spine, but it isn’t enough. Severus pushes a hand between them, grabbing both his and Harry’s cock in his hand. He rolls his lips in, having never done it this way before. Squeezing, he experimentally fists both their cocks, and Harry gasps.

“Is this good?” Severus asks. Harry nods furiously, hand grasping Severus’ bicep of his supporting arm. He pumps his fist again, watching Harry’s eyes flutter shut. Next, he rubs a thumb over the head of Harry’s cock, right on the slit, smearing precum between them. Harry groans, thrusting up into his hand, and it’s his turn to gasp.

He pumps his fist in earnest, squeezing and twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Harry thrusts into his hand, meeting every stroke of his hand. Severus feels his arms begin to shake, pleasure lighting up his body, the feeling of Harry’s cock against his own becoming too much.

Harry kisses him, filthy and ardent, then pulls away. “Severus,” he gasps with a groan. “I’m going, I’m gonna--.”

Severus nods, pressing their foreheads together. He opens his eyes, fixing his gaze on Harry’s. Their eyes meet, and they hold each other’s gaze as he continues to pump his hand over their cocks. He gives a squeeze, and suddenly Harry is spilling over his hand and his own belly. Severus feel his balls tighten, and suddenly he’s coming too.

He barely manages to hold himself up as Harry comes down from his orgasm. Harry wraps around his shoulders and neck, kissing him chastely.

“We made a mess,” he whispers against Severus’ lips. Severus snorts, sitting up until he’s straddling Harry’s thighs.

He runs his clean hand along Harry’s side, taking in the tanned skin and lean form beneath him. His chest fills with a familiar feeling, a fullness and a pain. Leaning down, he kisses Harry again. “I’ll get us a towel.”

Returning with a damp hand towel, he carefully wipes down Harry. He runs the towel over Harry’s chest, then presses a kiss just over where Harry’s heart is. Harry cards fingers through his hair, so he stays.

Severus screws his eyes shut, lips still pressed to Harry’s warm and smooth skin. “I love you.”

Harry freezes. “Are you saying that because we just had sex?”

“No,” Severus says, shocked. He raises his head to look Harry in the eye. Harry looks scared but also as if he is trying valiantly to look as if he isn’t. “I’m saying it because I’ve…," Severus silently chides himself, then takes the plunge. "I’ve been thinking it for the last three months.”

Severus watches as Harry’s chest rises and falls rapidly. He closes his eyes, suddenly aware that maybe Harry doesn’t-- he stops himself, unwilling to think it. His heart clenches in his chest.

Suddenly, he feels Harry card a hand through his hair again. He opens his eyes, Harry’s green eyes fixed on him, and he vaguely remembers Harry’s glasses are downstairs in the living room.

Harry trails his hands through Severus’s hair. Then with a firm hand on the back of his neck, pulls him down for a kiss. The kiss is fiery and passionate in a way that Severus has only ever experienced with Harry.

“I love you too, Severus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END FOR REAL
> 
> First, I want to apologize! This story took me much longer to write than I anticipated. I told some people in the comment this story would be finished MONTHS ago, and yet here it is... July. Secondly, I want to thank nebet-ren and swagabodcrane on tumblr for their beta reads and never ending support as I slowly lost my mind. I also want to thank everyone who left comments and kudos. Your support means the world to me!
> 
> I'm [haleswallows.](http://haleswallows.tumblr.com) on tumblr! Come yell at me about flower language.
> 
> PS: Severus' cover-up tattoo is totally flowers, lbr.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Larkspur - Levity, An Open Heart, Lightness, Birth flower for the month of July (Harry)  
> Carnation (General) - Fascination, Devoted Love, Birth flower for the month of January (Severus) [return to text]
> 
> 2 Lilies (Orange) - Hatred, dislike  
> Tulip (General) - Perfect Lover, Fame, Flower Emblem of Holland  
> Daffodil - Regard, Unrequited Love, Sunshine, Respect, The sun shines when I'm with you  
> Sunflower (Dwarf) - Adoration [return to text]
> 
> 3 Zinnia (Magenta) - Lasting Affection [return to text]
> 
> 4 Heather - Admiration, Solitude [return to text]
> 
> 5Rose (Bridal) - Happiness  
> Baby’s Breath - Innocence, Pure of Heart  
> Fern Leaf - Magic, Fascination, Confidence, Shelter[return to text]
> 
> 6 Buttercups - Childishness  
> Peonies (White) - Shame [return to text]
> 
> 7Lily (General) - Majesty, Honor, Pure of Heart  
> Lavender - Love, Devotion  
> Lilacs (Purple) - First Emotions of Love [return to text]
> 
> 8Narcissus - Formality, Stay As Sweet As You Are  
> Hepatica - Confidence  
> Dahlia - Dignity and Elegance, Forever Thine[return to text]
> 
> 9 Tulip (Red) -Believe me, Declaration of Love  
> Tulip (Variegated) - Beautiful eyes  
> Tulip (Yellow) - There's Sunshine In Your Smile  
> Peach Blossom - I am your captive[return to text]


End file.
